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#but anyways *throws this prompt into the void* have at it
polter-heist · 1 year
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Dp x Dc prompt 7
(most likely a limital!amity park)
a feud between Amity Park residents and the Justice League but it's one sided.
any time an Amity Parker goes out of town and ends up in a location where the Justice League gets called or any member gets called, an Amity Parker Will Take Care Of It.
Amity Parkers have dropped-kicked Lex Luther, ganged up on the Joker, punted Mister Mind, and more.
The Justice League and Villains are desperately trying to find out What Their Problem Is for different reasons.
When confronted, the answers vary but a concerning consistency is "If our dead teenage superhero can take care of world-ending threats by himself, we can take care of the little things."
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zukkaoru · 2 years
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the most (only) important post-canon arc for mai is her learning to let herself be vulnerable. learning that she does not have to spend the rest of her life suppressing both the good and the bad - she is allowed to be sad and angry, and she is also allowed to be happy and loved. mai spent her entire life perfecting an apathetic demeanor, perfecting a persona that does not care about anything. and, therefore, turning herself into someone who not only bottles up the negative emotions but also shuts out the positive ones. at boiling rock, she finally makes a move that puts her true feelings on display, and that paves the way for her to open herself back up to all of the feelings she has spent her entire life ignoring.
post-canon, mai's arc is not only about learning she's allowed to be sad, she's allowed to be angry, she's allowed to react to the trauma she went through. it is also about her learning that she is allowed to have good things. she doesn't have to punish herself for craving affection and love. she is allowed to want, and she is allowed to want whoever she wants. she does not have to hide her feelings for ty lee, does not have to suppress her attraction to women, does not have to assume that whatever marriage she is forced into will feel like a chore at best and a life of torture at worst.
mai has gone her entire life not receiving affection. even her relationship with zuko was stilted and forced, neither of them quite sure how to show that they cared for the other because they didn't care for each other in a romantic way. it was awkward and messy, and while mai might hate zuko for running, she's also grateful because she hated it too. so when, post-canon, she and ty lee end up together, it takes mai a while to understand how to accept ty lee's affection. it takes mai time to be used to someone who kisses her cheeks, her forehead, her hands spontaneously; someone who calls her lovely and starlight; someone who will hug her whenever she needs it and also whenever she wants it. it takes mai a long time to accept all of the love ty lee has for her - to realize that she doesn't have to earn every hug, she doesn't have to be on the verge of a breakdown for ty lee to kiss her forehead, she doesn't have to spend her life trying to be worthy of affection. this affection is hers to have and to keep and to cherish and ty lee is freely offering it to her, no strings attached.
mai's arc is about learning to be vulnerable, learning to be loved, and learning to be held. it is about falling asleep next to the girl she loves and not tensing up when ty lee pulls her close. it is about mai learning to open herself up and trust ty lee. it is about ty lee's arm over mai's torso, mai's back pressed to her chest, finally, finally letting herself be held. finally letting herself be loved. finally letting herself be at peace. it is about the fact that she no longer shies away from affection, no longer fighting with the voices in her mind that tell her to break free from ty lee's arms because she does not deserve this love. for mai, vulnerability is not only crying and being angry and breaking down - it is embracing the (physical) affection that her friends and girlfriend want to give her. it is falling asleep in ty lee's arms, sleeping soundly through the night, and waking up to mid-morning sunlight, all without doubting how worthy she is to call this happiness hers.
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softlyspector · 7 months
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Moss & Mushrooms
Written for Haunted Hoedown !
Prompt(s): animal shapeshifter au + "he's a monster" + "he's perfect". With the additional prompts of "I accidentally called you into this world" + gothic au
Summary: You are alone, always. Then, one day, a beast emerges from the forest you've never dared to go into.
Pairing: shapeshifter!Joel Miller x f!Reader
Word count: ~4.2k
Warnings: toxically co-dependent, unhealthy, literal nightmare relationship, body horror (also shapeshifter transformation type of things), graphic descriptions of violence, lots of blood, smut, marking, pain kink, light choking, intense biting, possessiveness, devotion and loyalty that threaten to go too far, mentions of death, suicidal ideation, intense loneliness, the reader wears a dress, the reader is described with having scars, bruises, only very lightly edited
A/N: I wanna say thank you to @psychedelic-ink and @inklore for hosting the Haunted Hoedown writing challenge because this really got the creative juices flowing and it was also just a lot of fun to write. Anyway! I'm throwing this into the void and running away. Thanks for reading!
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Something monstrous looms. 
It has claws and teeth, bristling fur. 
It emerges from the shadows with a growl, from the depths of the ever whispering forest, the ever murmuring leaves. 
Wind whips the trees back as darkness encroaches on the garden. You stand on the edge of the balcony, the widow’s walk, and watch it emerge from the forest, the writhing mass of dark trees, battered by the brewing storm, the thorny, irritated air. 
The wind sears your skin, so cold it burns, so violent it tears. 
The sky churns violet, navy, midnight. White moonlight cuts through the clouds, fingers of forked lightning spear through the roiling mass. 
The creature writhes. 
A wolf the size of a moose, you realize. Larger than any beast should be. 
It’s nails dig into the earth, a howl like a thousand years of pain wrapped in velvet echo across the yard, across the churning ocean that crashes against the seawall on the other side of the house. 
Your belly knots up, a thrill tingles at the base of your spine. You are alone on the coast. Your nearest neighbor is miles away. At least, they used to be, anyway.
 A storm is rolling in, the power flickering already in the ruinous house you call home, gothic and stately and in utter disrepair. 
It’s falling apart. Any moment it may fall to the ground, it may sink into the sea. 
The wolf’s howl breaks off, cracks, snaps. 
What if it prowled closer to the house? What if it came onto the porch below? What if it threw itself against the door, shattered its way inside? What if it attacked you? Consumed you?
All the blood in your face rushes down, gathers hotly in your chest. It thrills you, the thought of being trapped by the beast, the thing crawling closer to the house, lithe body sleek in the moonlight, in the gathering storm. It thrills you to think of it snapping you open, prying you apart, ending your misery.  
You have the urge to go downstairs, open the door and invite it in. It could carve your heart out with its teeth, you could eat it together. Blood dripping from your chin, it’s maw. 
You would no longer be alone on this stretch of coast beneath you, threatening to consume you and leave your bones behind, like all the others that had come before you. You could live inside the wolf. 
The cracking, snapping continues. A howl begins again, then chokes off. The smooth coat of fur jostles. The creature stumbles, falls halfway across the garden. The noise continues, like twigs snapped and rocks thrown. 
You watch the grotesque movement, fascinated, blood pumping, heart racing. The howl transforms into a moan, and then, the cracking, writhing stops. Your eyes are wide open but in the space of a blink the monster is replaced with a man. 
Before you can really consider what you’re doing, you fetch up the lantern by your elbow and fly back through the double doors to the staircase that winds down through the many floors of the ancient house. 
Something laughs, but you don’t pause to find out what. The fluttering wings of cobwebs and dust chase you down, down, down. Moss and mushrooms sprout from the damp of the walls, watching with hungry eyes. 
You know as your bare feet hit the main floor and the white of your dress swirls around your ankles, that even if you had paused to think it over, you’d still be here, pulling open the back door as the electricity flickers out and the rain finally comes crashing down from the sky. 
The lantern falls from your hand and you bolt out into the rain. 
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The beast, the man, is beautiful. 
You can tell even through the sleeting, hammering rain blurring your vision. 
The whole world is dark and wet. The whole of the earth is soaked in chilled blood. And you and the creature are the last of the warm bodies to stand atop it. 
You curl one hand under his naked bicep and pull.
The man is nude. He’s hard to make out in the dark and the rain and the howling, snarling wind. 
He follows you though, follows the touch of your hand, the press of your fingertips, like you are a glow of light in a dark tunnel and he the moth.  
The earth squelches beneath your feet, mud squeezes between your toes and tugs at the hem of your dress.
He follows you up the decaying back stairs, straight through the still open doors, gauzy curtains fluttering in the storm winds, ripping at their fastenings. 
As soon as you’re inside, the din of the rain is muted. The air is heavy with salt, like blood is in the air, like a sea of red has spilled across the dilapidated floorboards. 
All you want is to look at him, but violence breaks loose from the monster turned man.
His hands are large, veiny and thick and crushing when he backs you into a wall. 
He is naked in his entirety, and you can’t stop your eyes from spilling down his body. He cages you against the wall, thick forearms and biceps pressing you in tight. His chest is broad, littered with a smattering of wiry, dark hair. Scars criss cross his arms, his shoulders. Broad shoulders lead to a tapered waist and strong thighs. 
Your mouth goes dry at the sight of his cock, half hard and nestled in a thatch of dark hair. He’s big, thick. 
You should not want this monster, this man without a name that has been gifted to you by a storm that seemed to be conjured right out of hell. 
But he has been. He is yours. 
He has been gifted to you. 
Not the storm, you think. The forest. The dark green, solid black interior, has given him to you. 
You can feel him, feel his soul, like fishing line connects you, is tied to the ventricles of your heart and his. If you pull away, it will tear, it will rip. 
Your thighs ache. Tingling wanting sweeps from the crown of your head to the tips of your toes. There’s a hollow space inside your belly, growling, hungry. Your pussy clenches and you almost reach for him. 
The force of the wind blows a window open, slams it into a wall where it shatters with the impact. You glance into the stranger’s face, your eyes jerking up to his. He’s dripping with rainwater, hair slicked back from his forehead, black and gray in the moonlight, in the darkness of the storm and the house and your heart. 
He looks, for all the world, like someone you once knew. 
You can’t place who, water dripping into your eyes. 
One hand curls around your throat, and your eyes flutter closed at the sensation. You shudder when your heels leave the floor. He lifts you until you’re left on your tiptoes, gasping. 
You’ve never been lifted before, not in any kind of way, and certainly not like this. He’s strong, much too strong. 
His eyes are dark, swallowed by black pupils. His teeth pull back from his lips in a snarl, white teeth flashing. 
Maybe you don’t recognize him after all.
The darkness in his gaze makes you want to sink into the blank spots flashing in your vision. You force yourself to suck in a breath, force yourself not to get lost like a little lamb. 
“Why did you call me here?” 
His voice is deep and gritty. It’s a voice you would like to plunge your hands into, tweak into a melody, or something far more sinister. 
“I didn’t,” you say. “How could I?”
He has crinkles by his eyes, the tops of his cheeks. His forehead is wrinkled with tension. His beard is mostly gray, his lips pink, like the only spot of color. 
He’s beautiful. 
And you want him so bad, you would let him pluck the veins from your body one by one if it meant he would keep looking at you, if it meant his attention was on you alone. 
His gaze slides from your face to your body. Your dress is plastered to your frame with rainwater, wet and sticking. The white has been made transparent and there’s nothing left to his imagination. You may as well be nude. Goosebumps race across your skin. 
The monster releases your throat and instead leans into you, his body so hot it burns. He inhales against you, his nose just below your ear. All you can do is hang on, dig blunt nails into the flesh of his shoulders. You feel the twist of muscle beneath your fingers, the sinewy pull of tendon along his spine. 
The scent of rain and earth surrounds you, blood and pine. Like the forest just bore him into the world, like he is new.  
Your taut nipples brush against his chest, lightning careening through your body. The ache between your thighs grows steadily, makes you twitch forward into him. 
His stiff cock presses against your center, and you feel him inhale against your throat, bitten off in a growl that rocks the floorboards of the old house. 
The earth shakes, like it’s thinking of cracking open to swallow you both down. 
When he sinks his teeth into the juncture of your shoulder and throat, you groan. His bites so hard, your vision blurs with the pain. Your pussy clenches hard nothing and your hips rock forward into him, seeking pleasure to go along with the pain. 
“This what you wanted?” He asks when he pulls his mouth away, hips rutting against yours. He licks over the wound, breathes you in again. 
The wet fabric of your dress does little to dull the sensation, does nothing to protect you from the fire that looms inside. 
You had it wrong, you are not a flame to his moth. You are a raindrop against a forest fire. 
“I can fuckin’ smell what you want.” Blood sweeps down your neck in a heady rush, it soaks the front of your dress. His lips are red when he pulls back. 
You tilt your chin back and nod, drunk on him, on the storm lashing at the house. “I missed you,” you say, and somehow it’s true. The twine that connects you to him pulls tighter and harder until you cry out, and you have to wonder if you did call him from some dark otherworld, if you made him from clay and darkness and saltwater and now he’s yours. 
His eyes are familiar, the amber ring so small his eyes seem black. 
Iron hot hands grip your hips, jerk you against him.  
You’re nothing in his hands, incorporeal, like a ghost, like the world ended a long time ago and you’ve just been waiting to be found again. 
Moss blooms on your soul, overtakes your lungs and your heart and your ribs, it consumes you and the house and the whole world. 
There’s a tenderness in the way he lowers you to the floor, rotting planks of wood pressed into your spine. Your dress is rucked up around your waist. 
The bulk of him settles heavily over you, his tongue sweeps against the mark he left on your shoulder. Something agonizingly loud chases the gods across the sky when he growls at the taste. 
“We’re going to drown,” you breathe, air caught up in your chest. You clutch him closer, feel the bare press of his cock against your cunt for the first time, strong hands cradling your thighs, your hips. A shudder rakes up your spine, slices you open at the throat. 
The monster answers, “Missed you, too.” He tugs down your bloodied collar, gaze sinking into your skin, sticking like a knife in your ribs. One huge hand passes over your breasts, pinches your nipples between rough fingertips until you cry out. 
He’s inside you in one thrust. It hurts but that’s okay, because it means you aren’t alone. It means someone is finally at home with you.
He sets a brutal pace, grips you by your hips and then your ribs. Clawed fingers sink into your ribs, carve out pieces of your flesh, until more blood blooms. It's beautiful, like flowers opening in rain.  
He covers your mouth with his when you scream and the whole world breaks apart. 
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He doesn’t know your name. He doesn’t want to know it. Doesn’t want to know what to call such a lonely little thing. Doesn’t want to know what to call something so powerfully alone, something so lost in loneliness it called him from one world into the next. 
The rain hasn’t stopped. It pounds against the side of the house, against the weathered, creaking wood. 
You carry a candle, body and hair and clothes dry now. The flame whispers gently, gutters between your fingers. Hot melted wax trails over your knuckles. 
“Is there something I can call you?” You crouch and tilt your head, kneeling next to him where he lies on the floor. 
He thinks he’s on the third floor, the hallway. He doesn’t remember how he got there.  
He’d give you his name if he remembered it.
The side of your neck is bruised with his teeth, the outline of his mouth indented in your flesh. The sight makes his cock jump. 
He feels like he knows you, but maybe you just feel familiar because he’s broken you from the inside out.  
He doesn’t answer and you don’t seem to expect one. Your warm hand touches his shoulder. 
He wants to have you again. He’s hungry for the nectar of your flesh. You taste like the sea, like the gales that blow against the creaking, ancient house. Like salt and rainwater and lightning. He wants to dig his hands into you, into the meat of your lungs so he can feel you breathing, into the chambers of your heart so he can feel which direction your blood flows. 
He wants to be the one to stop your heart mid-beat, so it could always be his. 
Breaking open your ribs, sucking the marrow from the interior, taking a bite from your soul—he thinks you’d thank him for something like that. 
Your scent has mellowed out a little. You smell just like you taste, and now it's undercut with him, with the muskiness of him and the lingering want between your legs. 
Thunder cracks overhead, splits the world in two. You don’t so much as flinch and he covers your warm hand. The storm seems to perpetually hover right above the house. It’s been days, and it’s still there. 
He’s still coated in mud and you, his bones still hurt from the transition from beast to beast. 
You’re tempting, lit in lamplight and the reflected glow of the moon. 
He wonders if the sun ever rises here. 
“You can stay,” you say. “I don’t know how you’ll get home.” 
You voice is like a song that reminds him—
Joel. The name comes to him with a flash of lightning. 
“Joel,” he tells you. He wants you to know.  
“Joel,” you repeat. 
His name sets off something dangerous in his mind, kicks something possessive and protective alive. 
His. 
His, his, his. 
You belong to him. 
He twists, and pushes you back. The candle in your hand tumbles to the floor and goes out. “Joel,” you coo again. “Joel.” 
He pushes your skirt up, sees the shine of want on your pussy, your pretty cunt, still puffy from the last time he fucked you. Your thighs are rubbed raw from his beard. 
He licks you there, sucks your clit between his lips. You moan, your hips buck, and he doesn’t stop. He wants all of it, that musky taste of you in his mouth forever.  
You taste like crystal seas, like blackened skies and fire and darkness. 
“Joel,” you say his name, you pant his name. Fingers tangle in his hair, yank so hard he snarls against you. “I want it to hurt.” 
So, he makes it hurt. 
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The water in the bathtub is warm. He can see the steam rising around you in drafts. 
He likes looking at you, softly bruised on your thighs and hips, perpetual bite mark on your shoulder.
Joel likes watching the way you move. He likes the soft curves of your body, the peaks of your tight nipples, the elegant curve of your waist and neck. Your body is like a music note, or a question mark. 
The house feels swollen, waterlogged and dense. Laughter and voices twist behind doors that lead to nothing and nowhere. Fungi and moss and creeping vines claw at the walls of the house, rotting wood threatening to give out with agonized moans. There are moldering photos and paintings in the halls and bedrooms that he can’t quite look at. Rainwater seeps through the cracks in the ceiling. 
“It used to be beautiful,” you say to him about the house, running a pristinely white washcloth reverently over the bite on your shoulder, then the scratches over your ribs. His scratches, his marks. “The sky was always blue. Everything inside was clean and light and everything outside was green and fresh.” You look at him, sitting in the dark beside the bathtub. “But that’s all over, now.”
The thread coiled around his head gives a twinge. “You were married,” he says. He knows things about you that he shouldn’t and he wonders if he really came from otherworld, or if you created him with grief and love and loneliness.  
“He died,” you confirm. “The world ended. And then the rot crept in.” 
Joel stands and your chest hitches as you stare up at him. He pushes down the trousers you gave him, that fit him just right, and climbs into the water with you. 
You gasp and then tears are sliding down your cheeks. You must be wondering the same thing—if you called him here or created him.
It doesn’t matter. 
What matters is that you open your legs and let him fuck you again, water spilling over the side of the bathtub, soaking the floor. 
What matters is that you are his and he yours. 
Your eyes flutter closed, your lips part, when his hand closes around your throat. 
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The house is like a prison, but you make it into something livable.
The moon and sun do rise, here in this foreign, familiar place. Candles weigh down every surface, and the lights stay off. Neither of you seem to want them on.
The sea crashes violently against the seawall, the sharp teeth of jagged rocks jut up from the bottom, like the mouth of Charybdis. You loom in the window some days, watching the swirling water with lust in your eyes, like you’d like to dive into it. 
He can’t help but notice the widow’s walk is on the wrong side of the house. It faces the forest, not the sea, like the house has turned its back on the world, too. The forest whispers, trembles. 
He always pulls you back from the edge, fucks you until you can’t take him anymore, until you’re crying and limp and the wire tied up inside him goes loose.  
You ask him to leave once. You tell him he could figure it out, how to go home, but his devotion to you is total now, his loyalty is to you alone. Home is here, in the house swelling with moisture, with you picking herbs and sliding your fingers along the crowns of fungi like they’re beloved pets. 
You are his altar, his god; the vision, the future. 
Even thinking about leaving causes something in his chest to pang so hard he doubles over, that thing tied to you.  
“Are you still lonely?” he asks, when his cock is inside you and his mouth leaves a new bite on your bicep. “I enough for you?” 
“You’re everything,” your eyes roll back, slip closed. He cups your breast in his hand, sucks your nipple into his mouth and thinks of the straits of his heart. Your chest heaves against his lips. He still wants to break you, to tear open your chest, just to live inside it. 
Devoted.
It’s a good word. He’d keep you safe, even from himself. 
Your pussy twitches around him, clenching weakly. “Am I enough for you?” You make him lift his head, hands cupped under his chin. “Could I ever be?” 
You don’t know. You don’t know, you don’t know, you don’t know. 
You don’t know how devoted he is. That he would kill for you, die, that he wants to live amongst your bones now. 
The ancient house gives a groan, the rain comes down harder. He thrusts into you and you whine. “Will you leave?” Your voice is pathetically small. 
The house trembles, like it’s afraid too and is threatening to crumble into the sea with both of you inside. 
“Never.”
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One day, the rain goes light and foamy, the sky turns slate gray. It's almost a sunny day.  
Someone else emerges from the woods. 
Joel turns to you. You’re still on the bed, snaked through with vines and green, naked, covered in him. His spend shimmers between your thighs, on your cunt. Sweat shines between your breasts and at the base of your throat and he wants you again. 
“What did you do?” He snarls. 
“Nothing.” 
He watches the man, not beast, stumble closer. 
Jealous heat rises in his chest. You’ve called forth another man. Consciously or unconsciously, he’s there. 
“What d’ya want me to do?” Joel sounds desperate and he doesn’t care. 
You don’t answer, you rise from the clean white of the sheets and go down the steps in all your naked glory. He follows, watches the jiggle of your ass, the movement of your back and waist, the weight of your breasts. The scars his nails left on your ribs reassure him. 
You belong to him, he is yours. He would kill you both, to keep you safe from others. 
No stranger would change that. Whatever your heart needed, that had conjured something else, another man, from the deep of the shimmering, knowing, rustling woods, he would become it, give it to you. 
The man is kind and soft. 
He needs help.
You talk to him, and Joel watches him lean in, eyes never straying from yours even though you are bare to the cold wind. “Is he hurting you?” The newcomer asks. 
Joel doesn’t hear your answer. He feels the wire around his heart tug, the sharp echoing sting makes you gasp and clutch at the railing. The new man has no reaction and all the jealous possessive feelings immediately settle. If his heart wasn’t tied to yours, he wasn’t meant to stay. 
He was a lesson for Joel. 
The man’s eyes go to Joel then to you. “He’s a monster, miss.” 
You shake your head. “He’s perfect.” 
You turn and walk back to him. You touch Joel’s shoulder, curl your fist into his t-shirt. “Joel,” you say softly. You touch his cheek. “I know why he came.” 
“I do too.” He stands there a moment longer, kisses your fingers when you press them against his mouth. “What d’ya want me to do?” He asks again. 
You glance over your shoulder, then back into his eyes. “I want you to kill him, Joel.” 
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You watch the beast kill the man. 
Then, you watch the beast break its bones, reform its skin, to come back to you. 
And when he does, he tells you that was his lesson. 
His hands are stained red, blood seeps into your skin. Joel pushes into you, soft and slow. He doesn’t hurt you, even when you tell him to. “You need a kind hand, girl,” he tells you. “You’ve lived by the sea for too long.”
Tears come first, pleasure without pain for the first time in years comes second. 
He touches you with red printed fingers. The sheets are covered in the blood of a stranger that taught you a lesson. “Are you hurt?” You ask. 
“No.”
“You’re lying.”
He looks at you with those eyes, dark and knowing and loyal. He would never admit to that. Instead, he says, “I would do it a thousand times.” 
You stroke his cheek. “Do you think it was real? Do you think he was real?” 
“Yeah,” he says. “Because I’m real, too.” 
The forest gave him to you, to each other, so it must be real. 
Joel must be real. You settle against him, and decide that’s true. 
But don’t you ever wonder, you want to ask as you kiss his bare chest, what is in the forest? What is in the sea? 
Don’t you wonder, you want to ask him, why you look so much like my husband? 
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💕 Thank you for reading! Comments, replies, and reblogs are so appreciated. 💕
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meiieiri · 8 months
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LATE NIGHT SNIPPETS [FT. JUJUTSU KAISEN]
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❁—CHARACTERS: suguru geto, gojo satoru, nanami kento, megumi fushiguro
warnings: mentions of death and violence in megumi’s part ( T ^ T )
a/n: now this one got so bad it took me two days to write. ALSO, have ya’ll seen the new episode? WASN’T IT SO GOOD? like the symbolisms and the many artistic references to buddhism and enlightenment was just so GLORIOUS??? and yea, my heart hurts knowing what’s about to come. anyway so much for that. here are some new drabbles to keep us relatively happy in the meantime, prompts are open, btw!
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༊*·˚ GOJO SATORU
you think it's charming to see satoru try. he's not as half-assed as people think he is when it comes to devoting his time and effort to the things close to his heart. and for better or for worse, that included you.
his hands gently rakes a hand through your hair, your back pressed to his broad chest. he stops every now and then to untangle the unruly bits with the wide-toothed comb he held between his lips as he painstakingly lathered your locks with the new shampoo he just bought for you, the same one you’ve been eyeing whenever the two of you are out on your supermarket runs.
he treats the entire affair of doting on you, bathing together, as if he were perfecting an art form, and he — a mere blushing apprentice — utterly lost and in ruin in the presence of his ethereal muse. his head drops against your shoulder where a loving kiss makes a picture perfect landing that not even the most proficient trapeze artists can achieve. he cradles you close to his naked form but there was nothing overtly lustful about the entire affair (which is unlike the both of you, by the way, satoru was normally insatiable when it comes to his sexual desires).
there was only an intimate quiet — the kind of passing moment devoid of any unnecessary words and contemplations of love or adoration because there was no need for such futile philosophical bullshit when faced with an absolute truth that needs no explaining, no theorizing, no rationalizing for satoru knew, that in this horrible world riddled with lies, his love for you extends into the limitless void.
“i love you,” he mumbles sleepily into your ear, his eyelids drooping, his breath becoming more even by the second owed to the comforting warmth of the water in the bathtub.
it doesn’t hurt to say it every now and then, though.
༊*·˚ NANAMI KENTO
the warm ambient light of the overhead lamps above you illuminates the dark space of your living room, revealing the adonis-like features of kento, the shadows only seem to accentuate the contours of his defined cheekbones, the slight outline of his perfectly-shaped lips and his masculine jaw. you don’t know how you could have caught the eye of someone so beautiful, so…otherworldly.
he was like a monarch butterfly, a warm ball of fire that danced in an evergreen meadow, so guarded and scarce in his movements in fear that he’d burn the entire valley down with just a subtle flutter of his wings. but since you so desired to burn into cinders, who was he to deny your wishes? a yelp of half-surprise and sheepish laughter slips out from your lips when he suddenly sends you into a romantic dip, catching you by surprise, your heart racing in your chest.
“kento!” you lightly slap him on the arm which only causes him to throw his head back in delighted laughter.
and to the sound of the piano’s crescendo, and the singer’s luscious alto tone, he picks you back up, righting your positions, leading you in a slow dance. he sways both your forms side to side, sometimes hoisting his arm up to allow you enough space to innocently twirl around in time to the climax of the song playing on the vinyl player and in time to the sound of his heart breaking.
oh, how he desperately depended on you and you don’t even know it.
you wouldn’t even understand it if he articulated just how mystified he was to hold your smaller hand in his larger hand, to walk beside you for a thousand miles and not even feel an ounce of fatigue, to naively dance with you like this barefoot in the kitchen at two in the morning, to be able to call you his and him yours.
the song nears its end, the bell-like notes dissipating into the air. you try to pull away, suddenly remembering the dirty dishes from dinner earlier which you so carelessly abandoned in the sink but kento only tilts your chin towards him, his breath hot against your lips, “i’ll do the dishes later. dance with me again?”
༊*·˚ GETO SUGURU
a snort of laughter escapes suguru upon hearing the latest gossip you caught wind of in the teacher’s lounge earlier today . “so, i take it kento has a girlfriend now,” his eyelids flutter close when your dainty fingers lightly massage his forehead with a cool moisturizing balm that smelled absolutely divine with the earthy undertones of tea tree balm and aloe vera.
“engaged, at least that’s what shoko told me,” you correct him and he scrunches his nose in displeasure. you smooth away any of his stray bangs, and the soothing action causes him to sigh contentedly, basking in your butterfly-like touch.
to suguru, this was home — spending the midnight hours braiding one another’s hair, chatting away about anything and everything with your silly little skincare masks on, the humidifier in your room in its maximum settings spewing out the comforting aroma of yours or suguru’s favorite essential oil depending on who wins your little match of rock-paper-scissors, chaste kisses and most of all, you. “what are you staring at?” you ask, breathless, when you notice how his raven eyes stared up at you with so much wonder.
his hand lazily comes up to cup your cheek, memorizing each crack and bump of you as if tonight would be the last time he could ever do so. maybe he was selfish — as many mortals are — to want to beg the gods for time and the stars to stop turning, halting their perpetual orbit, so that he may savor this moment just for a while longer. and a while longer. and a while longer. ‘till eternity herself, in her humiliation, feels cheated.
“my entire world.”
༊*·˚ FUSHIGURO MEGUMI
you were woken up by his shikigami, the arctic dog wagging its tail excitedly as it tries to climb up your bed. you blink away the remnants of your slumber, yawning. “what are you doing here, cutie? where’s your dad?” you affectionately pat the creature on the head and it lets out a happy bark, leaning into your touch. wait a second. if the shikigami had appeared, then, megumi must surely be up and about somewhere in the house. you pull on your silk robe to go look for him when you find only moonlight on his side of the bed.
you eventually find yourself in the living room’s main balcony which functioned as a sun room of sorts. you find megumi hunched over, watering can in hand, seemingly in a daze, he diligently waters the many potted plants you’ve collected over the years. you shake your head, beguiled at the sight, leaning against the glass door.
“your orchids were starting to wilt,” he replies when he senses your presence, a touch of sadness in his voice. he’d gotten you those orchids for your anniversary as the two of you were on your way home from a backbreaking mission in shizuoka. he’d been horrified to see it practically wasting away in the scorching summer heat. “…i…i had to do something,” he swallows thickly, a few tears pooling at the crescent of his green orbs.
you instantly understand. you walk over to him, hugging him from behind as he works. his breath stutters, his grip on the watering can slackening. it falls to the ground in an unceremonious clang! something uncoils within megumi and right then and there…he weeps, falling into the sanctuary of your arms, his tears staining the fabric of your robe, glistening like the most precious of jewels serendipitously unearthed in the forgotten mineshaft that is his heart. “shhh,” you hush him as he continues to cry.
he could have saved that little girl.
if only he’d been faster. if only he didn’t freeze up in front of that curse. if only he hadn’t been his usual second-rate mediocre self even for just a second, maybe she would have lived. “what if it had been you?” his ivy green eyes are filled with abject fear. “what if—?”
“—then, you’ll come get me,” you reply without a second thought, your voice as soft as a spring night’s dewfall, your hand comfortingly raking through his disshelved raven hair. “i know you will.”
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iwaasfairy · 10 months
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┌─ “ ! „ STEP ONE
tw. noncon, explicit descriptions of violence and murder, body horror, decapitation, dacryphilia, fear kink, objectification, threats, humiliation, blood, brief throw up scene, weapon play, choking, overstimulation, manipulation, physical harm, mask kink wordcount. 6.4k
a/n. ♡ commissioned by a lovely friend whomst i cherish dearly ♡ thank you so so much for commissioning meeee!! i t was very fun to have a reason to write some grimy gross shit again and your big brain is the best mwUah this was so fun i hooopppee you enjoy it !!! kiSs kISS kiss and thankies to rhi for beta-ing <33
oikawa tooru x fem!reader x iwaizumi hajime
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Crack, it pops. And squelch, squelch, crack.
The blurred spats of red-tinted light that fill the night sky blur until they seem to vanish, and the ache in your head becomes pressing enough to numb. Numb to the coldness of the dirt, the uncomfortable stickiness to your back and thighs, tingling down your feet. The stars - you know them to be stars though they don’t look it, bleeding out like lambs across a pitch black voidness - get blocked out when the movement comes back to your view.
And a dirty, wet hand lands against your cheek hard enough to knock your face to the side, stinging up and down your skin. You get another taste of the copper coating your tongue— and a deep, pinched wheeze has you spluttering on the floor as your lungs come back to life.
It’s so cold.
But the pressure building between your ears rings before it pops, and the deep, rough string of wordy promises comes back to you. You almost think the quiet behind them hurts more. There’s caked blood that clots your nose, as your body is ragdolled onto a lap. Better view of the sky. Better view of the off-human face that forces back into sight. It cracks, it pops. You barely breathe.
And wonder how you got here.
+
There’s something unpleasant about the way he words it. “Okay, don’t be a baby. How old are you? Didn’t we all agree to this?” You’re not prone to telling your friends no, but there’s a difference between gentle encouragement, and being an abstemious dick. “We just got here.” With a gentler smile, the blond’s girlfriend shoots you a little encouragement.
“If you really don’t like it, you can always step out, you know. These things are made more for silly jumpscares than actual panic.”
Your shoulders square a little higher to your ears when you hop off the bar of the fenced line. “I know,” you say, be it a little mumbled. The other couple in front of you, classmates, look back to give you the kind of look that would amuse. If shot at anyone else. Your hands bury into your jacket pockets as the last pinkish light of the day starts to dim, and you pick at the loose thread in there. You aren’t the biggest baby you have ever been, but you’re first to admit you’re no brave soldier. You’re jumpish, cowardly when it comes down to the wire, and when presented with a choice, you’d rather go. Given enough incentive, you’ll run through in a dash and waste twenty dollars.
But your ride currently is nuzzled into the shirt of her brand-new boyfriend. It won’t be so bad. These things are usually too quick to get your money’s worth anyway. The corn reaches high though, enough to hide everything from view as the end of the line comes closer and closer, and distant screams prompt eager giggles and glances. Yeah, these kinds of things have never been your strongest suit. A group of teens behind you engages in happy chatter as you softly tap a rhythm into the half-muddy loam, glancing between your friends very briefly. Both couples glomp into one another in the wait, happy to walk the entire way in little pairs. Happy to hurry on without you too if push comes to shove, probably.
Prey instinct.
Maybe someone other than you will get scared enough to run, and maybe that will be distraction enough to forget about you and your inevitable anxiety. You take a deep breath, and let the fresh countryside air fill up your lungs- lovely, mixed with wisps of smoke machine and lingering scent of manure. Instead of psyching yourself out too much, listening to yet another trail of screams that grow further and further away, you turn to watch one of the two barely legal workers as the walky scratches obnoxiously.
“Tchhhk-we ca -end in —ther group.” The mousey looking kid has straggly hair that is tied in a low pony under an obnoxious red and yellow theme park cap, and looks about as pumped as you feel waving in the first two of your party down the correct path into the maze.
He gives an unenthusiastic spiel, and then swings open the gate before pressing a few buttons. “Two incoming.”
“Yup— tchh- also have so- lag on our—ne. Are y- changi— t- channel?”
Almost instantly as the couple disappears around a corner, you hear a few high pitched screams and giggles join the ones in the distance, and you cross your arms over your chest. Even though you try, your heart rate automatically rises when another scream rings out. The teen talks into his device for a moment again, and you brace yourself as you friends line up at the crooked little gate. After a second or so, a slight pinch moves between the teen’s brows, and he eyes leave his co-worker to stare into the field.
“-Saw s-eone… w-kin- around… premise. Pl—e advise.” The crackle of the device is loud enough to reach you, before another couple of screams cuts it off.
The screams are loud, high pitched and uncomfortable. They set hairs on the back of your neck up on end. “Huh.” As the dyed blond gives a wave, he aims himself at your group and says, “sorry, but you have to wait a few more minutes.” His little mousy walk from behind the stand annoys you more than it probably should. But you can’t help it. You want to be done with this, sooner rather than later. “Gimme five.” The kid gives his co-worker a quick mumble, before he disappears down into the one neat path between the corn, and you wait again.
Thump. Thump. Thump. Your heart beats steadily, but hard. Enough to have you wanting to nervously pace the small area of path, but choosing against it after all. The screams are fainter now, further away. Fuck this shit. As the sky lowers into an off-red sort of color, you finally speak up. Your roommate’s pretty eyes find yours. “Hey, can I walk along with you guys actually? I really… really don’t like this sort of stuff.” The noirette barely gives the accompanying blond a look, before letting out a little sigh.
“Yeah, it’s getting pretty late anyway. We can head home quicker that way.” Her boyfriend doesn’t bother to conceal the way he rolls his eyes at you, but doesn’t say anything. You don’t say anything either. Just wrap your arms around yourself and pull your sweater closer to your body. Only a few minutes pass where you all stand in silence, and the people behind joke among each other.
The other teen perched on the entrance eventually gives your group a little nod, and opens the shabby gate with the most monotone greeting. “Welcome to the Night Shift, Miyagi’s scariest paranormal experience. Please stay on the path and refrain from touching our ghosts.” His half-lidded expression and dead-tired wave of the arm almost make you want to smile, if only in understanding. But instead you shuffle along the damp path. “Enjoy.”
The two in front of you start off a liberal, bouncy pace, as your roomie prattles on, and your eyes scan the long path of corn before you. It sways softly in the wind, and the shade it casts is awfully cold. The rattling sound of leaves is the least of your worries though, trying to keep up with your friends. Your heart pounds in your chest, because above anything, it’s the quiet anticipation before the scare that gets to you. The steps get closer and closer to the first corner, and you know. You know how this stuff goes. But Mina gives a little glance back as her long hair sways along her back, ready to encourage you.
A jerk has you all skittering back. Mina and your screams sound in harmony in the cooling night. The pale white face that jumps out at the three of you is a gaunt, gross version of some kind of thready zombie— and makes an awful scratchy sound. “Give your souls. Give your souls.”
Its closeness to your face is enough to make you stumble, ignoring the laughs. But the ghost doesn’t immediately leave, instead crowding you for long enough to have you covering your ears. Thump. Thump. Thump. The rapid pounding of your blood reaches your cheeks. You hate this stuff, from the ache of your chest to the uncomfortable closeness, and you try to calm down.
The ghost has you almost slinking into the corn to escape, before you can finally walk on.
Your friends are almost at the next turn already, and it feels to get darker by the second. Mina has her arm clamped in her boyfriend’s arm, whose smug grin flashes when you hurry on. “Ty, wait! Guys! This isn’t funny-” your voice fails you almost as soon as they reach the next corner way before you do, and disappear from view, “come on, please?” The scream that follows only has you hesitating more, feet slowing as you stand in the now-almost completely dark field. “Guys, this isn’t funny! Wait for me!” you try again, and come to a halt before even the next turn.
All of this is so fucking stupid. If you weren’t such a baby, maybe you’d be unbothered by this turn of events. You even predicted it, didn’t you? Your eyes sting, both from the adjustment of light, and the adrenaline pumps through you— before you set another few steps.
It can’t be that far. It can’t be that scary. It’s just stupid employees in masks. A scream that must be Mina’s rings out further along than you hoped they’d be- and has you balling your fists. If only you can get past, maybe you can catch up to them.
Either way, you’ll have to face more ghouls before the night is over.
And—
Crack.
A scream, behind you.
Your feet fail to start, and goosebumps raise all the way up your legs and back. There’s a whole myriad of noise, a loud bubble of screams that sounds much too close for comfort. They squeal and cry out for a painfully long few seconds. Long enough to push past rational thought before it goes near-quiet again.
And your heart patters on in your throat.
There’s a range of sounds you prepare yourself to hear when you go to any sort of horror experience. The dull, repeated thump, and the long sort of moan— that sounds out above the wind, isn’t really one of them. The cold climbs up your arms and chest before you can gather yourself. The moan isn’t like anything you associate with a ghost. It’s low and groany and continues for a long time, like a wounded animal— and lasts only until a heavy noise snuffs out the plea.
And - the instinctual part of your mind tells you to hide.
It’s gone dark. It’s gone quiet.
If Mina hasn’t made it to the end yet, you can’t hear her. 
Ever so slowly, your thoughts start up again, as you keep your ears wide open for any sound at all. There’s only the soft fluttering of the wind playing through the leaves. Before, as if under the breath of something larger, the sound of scraping leaves against clothes and the nervous rustling of someone moving through the field to your left makes you hold your breath. Your hands move over your mouth to clamp down the stuttered sound of your breathing.
You don’t know why, but it’s something in the air. The irregular noise, the lack of any other sound, and you staring into the darkness… screams at you. An animalistic feeling of threat, whispers that something is wrong. Your hands shake too hard to control. After a little bit of a pause, the noise returns. It’s a second of struggle, before another dying murmur sounds out, louder, closer, and then more shoving. More hacking. Your lungs feel like they’re squeezed too narrow, and your anxiety doesn’t allow for any other thoughts than a prey’s panic.
The nervous rustling gets louder and louder by the second.
Can’t you just step out of the experience? You don’t want to do this anymore— the childish part of your brain begs, and though you want to, you can’t make yourself move. Your lips stay tightly shut. The rustle to your left takes a more rapid pace, before it finally, finally grows a bit quieter again, and you manage to take a breath- pinched and wheezy.
Wrong.
Wrong.
Run.
Your ribcage aches under the pressure of your heart.
Only seconds before the noise would turn the corner, you find yourself stepping back and squeezing yourself between the stalks of corn, shaky hands grabbing and pushing yourself to hide.
Far enough to blot out the last bit of light of the evening, and have you squeezing yourself back until you’re a few feet from the path. You can’t see much, but the darkness adjusts quickly. Then, it’s quiet. The fine hair on your arms stands upright as soft taps get closer, and closer, and closer. And the corn doesn’t feel like enough of a shield.
Another scream comes from the way your friends ran off— girly, shrill and true— it lasts barely a second, but echoes for longer.
… Mina. It’s quiet.
Whatever stupid game is being played, you suddenly decide you want no part in it, and the cold wind ruffling the blades above your head feels like the only disguise for you and your anxious breaths. The footsteps reach, and slowly move past as the air gets stuck in your throat. You’re no fighting champion, and yet, your first instinct is to squeeze your fists tighter.
Only a dark figure can be made out from where you’re hidden, but the head is white, some kind of ghoulish looking mask. Ghost like, if not for the black stitches and blood. The presence is more pressing— it grates with each step. For a tiny moment, the figure stops in his tracks to scan around, and it gives you the flash you need to see that the thumping is caused by the heavy metal tool he periodically swings out and taps onto the floor.
It’s like an elongated butcher’s knife, wide and coated with glittering, royal red that drips down the pristine edge of the blade. Carrying the thick smell of copper behind him. And you’re freaked out enough to conclude it looks real. It can’t— can’t possibly be.
As soon as he passes you for enough time for you to steady your heartbeat, you sneak out of your hiding spot— before you hurry back down the way you came. Your every step feels too loud, and though you try to make sense of what you’re feeling, it comes out in a wobbly line of wetness along your eyeline. With another few step you make it around the corner and—
falter in your step.
There’s blood everywhere. Hands, throat, the huge gash in between the neck and shoulder that reveals flesh and tissue and bone, and oozes a vile smell of blood unlike anything you’ve ever experienced. It’s all encompassing. The previously scary ghost is reduced to nothing more than a sad heap of fleshy canvas for the layer of blood that pools around them.
You can’t think. Can’t breathe.
Blood, blood, there’s so much blood everywhere.
On your shoes, on their ghouly face, on your hands as you kneel down and find it disturbingly warm and sticky and real. The feeling of dry heaving takes over you, and you stand with trembling- everything.
Your heart pounds. Eyes are blurry and make everything a little hard to navigate. You want out of this stupid fucking game. It wasn’t fun to begin with, and it definitely isn’t now. Out, out, all you want is out. This is a nightmare, or the worst practical joke ever. You wipe your involuntary tears with a shaky hand as you walk, only to find yourself letting out a squeak when the red gets onto your face. You rub your cheek onto your shoulder, speeding up— and barely allows for wheezy, heavy breaths of air.
By the time you get back to the gate, you’re almost blinded by your tears. But even your tears can’t hide the growing terror that remains. The group of teens never made it into the path. They lay clumped in a mess of bodies and blood, one of them hanging over the posts with blank, dead eyes- and a horrifying wound that nearly severs his head from his neck. Everything is covered in blood, from the ground, to the clothes, faces, the neat red-yellow uniform- it all has soaked and turned a dirty, off-maroon color that seems to fit the smell emanating from the scene.
You can’t help it, you heave over onto your knees and nothing but some pure acid comes out as you try to look around. This is real. Real. It can’t be, but it is.
Your choked noises of panic ring through your ears wiping your mouth on your sleeve, along with a loud buzzing that goes back and forth, back and forth, back and forth when-
The footsteps suddenly have you turning around, and screaming. The man’s here. You scramble up and jump onto the wooden fence to swing your leg over, but a heavy hand grabs a fistful of hair and yanks you back as you yelp out loud, and grab at his wrists.
“Let me go! Let go!” Your scalp feels like it’s tearing apart with the force when you land onto the cold floor, and the ghoul’s face comes to hover over yours— your tears don’t allow for proper breaths as you cling onto his arm and dig your nails in. “I wanna go home~” your cried, pathetic whimper is all that comes out as you stare, and in the pits of the blacked out eyes, olive irises stare back.
The man raises his other hand, and everything goes black.
+
When you come to, there’s an awful stench that you taste more than smell. You’re so dizzy, and your eyes blot with black clouds everywhere you look— for much too long. Your nose clogged with thick coats of blood hurts, as you roll onto your belly with a groan and cough against the strained pressure.
Fuck, everything hurts.
There’s a bubble of noise around your head that pops in and out of focus each time you blink, and breathe. Crack, it pops. And squelch, squelch, crack. You try to raise yourself off from the cold, damp floor, but a heavy shove to your side has you landing on your sore shoulder, and staring up at the sky with shallow gasps. A hand slaps your face sideways hard, you’re heaved up, and suddenly everything floods back to you. The blood. You try again to right yourself, and your head spins as you try to shake off the cotton that’s filling your head and pushing on your brain.
You’re aching, and your mouth is full of blood.
It’s only when you try to focus on your environment that you manage to make out the muffled crying of a woman — and your head snaps up. Mina’s bound, gagged, and she’s got mascara tracks all down her face and cheeks, and her hands lay uselessly on her lap. Dripping with blood. It’s only after much too long that you notice that the figure that’s moving in your periphery is landing a huge axe over and over again into what’s left … of a human skull.
Blond hair is matted together with clots of blood, and it looks more like a soup than a head. The soft crack and squelch as the axe is pulled out of the floor has you crying out.
Oh god. You wish you were dead.
The figure has a black mask covering most of his face, and yet, you feel like you can see the smile between the narrow slits as he turns to you. The man leans into the handle of his blood soaked axe with all the weight of his tall but solid body. “Two little doves, one gets caught. One tries to fly, the other gets got.” Besides the ring of black around his eyes, you can’t see anything. Your lip wobbles as you breathe, and stare.
“It’s a nursery rhyme. Fits, don’t you think?” His mouth is just barely visible under the forked plate that covers it, and pink lips curl up at the ends. “I know movies teach you to expect a lot of dramatics, but that’s all the drama you’re going to get from me, don’t worry.” He noisily pulls up his nose, before crouching down before you. “I’m Tooru, that’s Iwa. What’s your name?”
At the mention of a second name, you turn over your shoulder to see the figure of the man that caught you— white mask splattered with drying blood, crouched much too close behind you. Your voice dies in your throat, but a soft whimper still comes out. You can’t help it. Cold shivers run up your spine and make your entire body feel wooden.
“Tch.” Tooru gets up to lift the axe high above your head, and then brings it down towards you a few times. “Come on, don’t be like that.” He leans down to grab your roommate’s face, and shakes her with a glance towards you. “I already know this is Mina. Now you tell me yours.” Your nod is quick, and you breathe out your answer just as quickly as he comes back over to you, now scraping the sharp blade along your jaw. “Good girl.”
“Now you’ll be happy to know that you two were the finalists of our little game. Con-gra-tula-tions.” His sing-songy chant sets your skin on end. He stares at you with thinly veiled expectation, and you take a shuddered breath through your bloody nose.
“Thank you,” your voice is barely a mousy squeak.
And Tooru’s laugh comes out almost instantly, cheerfully rocking onto the back of his heels. Just a second, before he stands up again, long legs towering his shape above you. “Sadly enough there can be only one winner. So,” he pauses, eyes glittering with too much mirth, “Iwa, if you would.” The man who’s been sat basically glued to your backside for the whole time gets up to pet his hand over your hair a few times, before stepping over to Mina in silence.
“Wait, wait…” His butcher’s knife comes to rest on her shoulder as she cries the same pinched, pathetic patterns as you do. Tears and spit drenching into the gag in her mouth. “Don’t hurt her.”
“Shhh shh shh,” the dark masked one chants again, and his axe comes to pinch into your neck too, nicking the soft side of your throat with a sharp sting. “Here’s the question. Who is… the one that has to die?” He pushes the blade harder into your skin. “And you better answer, because Iwa likes killing pretty girls. I can’t guarantee what will happen if you think too long.”
“Wait…” you ask, looking into the panic filled eyes of the girl before you. You can see every thought, every regret in her face. “Wait, wait, please. I…”
“Three-”
“Wait!” you squeak now, eyes shifting between both men. “I can’t-”
“Two-” He mockingly moves the axe along your shoulder like a golfer, and your panic blossoms onto your tongue. “One.”
“Me,” you cry out instinctively, vocal chords aching. “Me, kill me.”
It stays quiet for what feels like an eternity, before Tooru lets out a soft chuckle. “Iwa’s right. You are cute. A sweet, little thing, aren’t you.” Then the other guy moves too quick for someone his size, and his weapon glides with one heavy swing right under her jawline in slow motion. The glittering edge of the knife in the moonlight arcs almost beautifully. Slicing through your former friend’s neck with a clean thwop, not enough resistance, before blood splatters on you, on him, on everything.
Her head falls before her body does, with a dull thump that sears into your brain.
And you-
Everything blanks.
You think you scream, but the buzzing and shaking is too loud to make out anything. All you know is that your crying gets worse, and you bury your face into your knees with a sob. Your thoughts are a wiry, tangled ball of terror that comes out in faint pants only, and shaky fingers that curl around your knees. The axe drops to your side before two hands land on your head and slide down to yank you back up to face him, and Tooru’s lips get close enough to you to feel the puff of air on your face. “Shhh, doll. It’s alright now. You did so well.”
“You talk too much,” the more gravelly tone of the other man hits your psyche like a shovel, and has you sobbing into the soft touches along your cheeks.
“I’m setting the mood, Iwa-chan.”
The white masked man steps over the body to your side much too casually, before kneeling down beside you. “Set it in silence for once.” To your horror, his eye contact doesn't wane when you cry harder. In fact, he seems to think for a second, before grabbing your arm in his heavy, warm palm and pulling you closer. “C’mere. You’re gonna be good. Okay?”
“I- I,” you stutter, and pull up your snotty, wet nose again, before he leans in to slide his head into the crook of your neck, and moves the mask up a few inches. Only to press a few kisses along the bare skin, and up to your jaw. If you weren’t so mortified, maybe you’d fight. If you weren’t so shell-shocked, you’d take the weapon to your side and swing it around until it stops.
But his low, impatient grunt against your pulse has you going quieter. “You’re going to be good.” It isn’t a question. “Understood?”
“Yes…” It tastes wrong in your mouth, like the bloody taste that slides from your nose to your mouth, and everything that’s gotten onto your shirt, shorts, on every extremity now. After another second of raising your heartbeat so much you’re halfway to passing out, he finally moves— to press his lips against yours for a second, and slots the mask back in place. If you were any more lucid, maybe you’d be able to comprehend what will follow next. “Take off your top,” the quieter one mumbles, as he starts unbuckling his own belt.
“Here, I’ve got it,” Tooru then chants, too playfully, taking your hands and moving them above your head. As they rise, you feel the sudden feeling of terror flood over you again, shuddering as the fabric is pulled up and wipes past the mix of fluids on your face. You stay like that though, letting him maneuver you like a toy until your shirt lands beside you, and he then starts work on your bra. “Aren’t you a pretty one, hm? Cutie.”
The way he drags his fingers along your shoulder to push each strap aside one at a time is infuriating, but aside from lowering your arms to the side, you don’t— can’t stop them from unhooking and letting the bra join the clothes. Iwa’s quick to perk up at the sight of you, halfway to shouldering Tooru aside to take a good look. And though he doesn’t speak, the soft grunt and way he goes to cup himself over his pants says plenty. Your soft hiccups start back up at that. You don’t want to. You don’t want to one bit- and yet there’s nothing you can tell your body that would make you move. Not fast enough, at least. Tooru simply shakes his head. “You’re a real romantic.”
“Don’t need to be-” His fingers slide up your side before grabbing a handful of your tits and squeezing, as he gets closer on his knees. “Nothing about this is meant to be romantic, Shittykawa. Start taking off your fucking clothes.” His hands roam along your cold skin, brushing playfully against your peaked nipples a few times before he looks back at your face. “You’re gonna take that pretty little mouth and place it on my cock. And if you bite me, I’ll pull each of your teeth out of your skull before you die.” His thumb swipes along your bottom lip, before pushing in and dragging the pad along your tongue. “Understood?”
Your voice loses all volume when he slides the digit deep enough to choke you up, before he pulls back briefly. “Mhm.” Tooru to your side doesn’t make haste in taking anything off, and seems to glitter at the brief attention you give him as he unbuttons the black dress shirt, revealing a toned chest and arms. He’s littered with scars, and somehow, that only makes everything more real. Before you’re able to think it through, you start crying again, squeezing your eyes shut and rubbing the backs of your hands along your lashes like a child. “I…” You’re unable to stop. “I - I don’t- I wan- wanna go home— I-”
“Agh, fuck.” Someone speaks, but unlike the anger you expect to be met with, he groans it, delighted more than anything. Your eyes open when hands cup your face and you’re laid down onto the cold ground with a swift motion, and Tooru’s inhuman mask stares back at you— only revealing a wide grin. “Stupid girl. You can’t go home. You’re going to be our play thing until we get bored of you, or you stop being useful-” He dips down to an uncomfortable few inches from your face, and pinches your cheek until it hurts. “And then, you’re going to end up chopped into little pieces and buried in a shallow grave. Heh, how dumb are you? You wanna go home?” His mocking tone hurts almost as much as the sharp glare.
You can’t help it, you cry harder, and try to get from under his heavy body to hide your face— but that only faces you with the horrifying reality of your friends’ fate. “Wanna cry to mommy and daddy about it?” As he gets close enough to almost brush his lips over your ear, a soft chuckle comes out. “You better not tell Iwa-chan that. He’s really mean when he gets jealous.” He moves to pry open your mouth and slides two long fingers in without warning, having you choking again and spluttering around. “Now be a good girl. Or don’t be. Doesn’t matter to me.” Your tongue squirms uncomfortably as the fingers invade your throat and make it feel like you’re drowning in your own spit- with desperate puffs of air through your nose as you cry.
“Move that way,” Iwa grunts after a few seconds, before staring at the wobbly line along your eyes again. “Guess I get to go first.” There’s a distinct lilt of amusement that hangs over everything he says as he grabs your leg and yanks you up to start pulling your shorts down. Finally Tooru pulls back as you cough, spit leaking out of the sides of your mouth— before he too starts taking off the last of his clothing and hums softly to himself.
“Isn’t she really sexy when she’s pouting like this?” His gleaming praise is paired with a sharp tap to your cheek, as he peeks out a sliver of his tongue. “Crying like a desperate, little slut.” He doesn’t give you the chance to say anything in between your sobs before he grabs himself at the base and leans over you to press his cock head to your mouth. “You’re just a hole for us to abuse, you know that?” Something in the back of your mind begs for you to bite him, but almost as if he can smell your intent, his hand wraps around your throat and pushes, hard. “Try something and you’ll wish I was just being mean all over, cutie.”
“Gotta fit us, baby,” the other voice speaks, and makes you want to sink through the floor. Your body can’t stop crying, and the anger you feel is almost equal to your fear. It’s not enough to let you ignore them. They have to demand your attention too. “Pretty little cunt.” He starts rubbing your pussy up and down with rough fingertips, then spits and spreads around the wetness before he almost immediately pushes two fingers in dry— and it makes you jerk at the uncomfortable feeling of your body being invaded.
“I think she likes it when it hurts, Iwa-chan,” Tooru’s playful tone makes you want to scratch and bite and tear his head off. It just has you crying your eyes shut though, and lay there shaking. What other choice do you have? His tone doesn’t change as he demands attention by rubbing your tits and squeezing until you squeak. “That’s a good toy.” The rubbing and prodding does start to allow your wound-up muscles to loosen up a bit, but when the hand between your legs pulls back, you’re still not nearly wet enough. Iwa’s strong thighs under yours cause your hips to be aligned with his, as he grunts, as he looks, as he all but eats you up with his eyes.
But that’s all you get before Tooru’s patience wanes and he prods open your mouth, and starts feeding you his cock. “Ah, there you go, little crybaby. Open wide.” The taste of his precum on your tongue along with the bucking into your cheek makes you open your eyes to look up, and to your surprise, his mask has been discarded too. There’s a healthy flush on his cheeks, and in any other situation, you’d be taken aback by how pretty he is. Instead he grabs a hand of your hair and forces his flushed cock down your throat, as you try not to panic further. The feeling hurts. It hits the back of your mouth as your tongue squirms around him and he makes you heave—
and the hot, heavy cock that was pressed against your mound is now also pushed in you with a low, gravelly moan. There’s an ache inside you that is impossible to ignore as he fills you up inch by inch and the stretch really hurts, going into pleasure too quickly. You shouldn’t- you know you shouldn’t, don’t want to- you swear, you swear. Everything is too much. The cock in your throat makes you gag as Iwa bottoms out, grabbing your hips and anchoring himself inside you. The warm cloud of pleasure that spreads through you is painfully overwhelming. “Tight fucking pussy- god-”
The one closest groans out your name, as you feel his cock pound on your tongue. “Ain’t she just- so- gh-good?” Tooru’s flash to yours and the big, brown irises that look back at you make you shiver. He pulls back to beam down at you with what you could almost call a serene smile, as his cock jerks against your cheek and his hand runs down your body. Your pussy clenches as the rhythm of Iwa’s cock pistoning in and out of you starts feeling more than just painful— and wetness starts allowing him to slide in with a wet squelch. When a tiny moan comes out of your mouth, Tooru giggles, and leans in. “Don’t you like it a little too much? Having two bad men fucking you? After what happened-”
“Leave her be Oikawa- ugh,” Iwa groans from behind his mask, hiking you up to speed up the rhythm inside you, “don’t bully our new pet… Ah, fu~ck.” The loud paps of skin meeting skin is all you can hear, as your back lifts off the cold ground and his cock rocks into the best part of your walls. Your body is strung tight enough for every touch to feel better than the last, even the twitching of the drooling cock head as it’s smeared on your lips. “She feels so good.” 
“I’m just teasing. Right, little one?” You don’t fight the urge to stick your tongue out and lick along the glossy slit of his cock, and Tooru grabs your head to keep you there. “Oh sh-, see? She likes it. She likes getting fucked like she’s nothing. Just a greedy little cunt and throat, huh?” He moans as you wrap your lips around him again, and narrows his eyes at your face. “‘S all you’re good for.” The thumping vein on your tongue is thrust back into your mouth, and you cry as he fucks all the precum down your throat before pulling back.
“Ah, ah, ah~” Your whimpering is beyond you, as you cling to the arm of the one closest to you. You’re completely gone. The tingling all over your body is all you can feel, the heat of them over you and inside you as you cry and moan and whine, and the hands roam on your body. Each time Iwa bottoms out in you, your body jerks from the pleasure and impact, and Tooru’s eyes seem to darken as you blubber around the base of his cock for air. He doesn’t falter when he turns to stare at the other man instead, and keeps you down there. “She’s close, hurry it up.” 
“I want to cum inside,” Iwa immediately says back, and though you can’t see the frown you hear it’s there. He’s still fucking right into that spot that’s making you almost crosseyed, so they’re not even wrong. His deep voice rumbles as he thinks, and his strong, muscular shoulders square. All the while you’re trying to cum up for air, and Tooru threads his fingers through your hair. “You’ll have to wait a little for your turn.”
Your lungs ache and your vision goes spotty from being choked so long, before the brunet finally lets you jerk back off his drooling, spit-coated cock to take a deep breath, and let out a cry. Still each pump of Iwa’s body against yours taps your puffy clit, and winds that coil even tighter in your belly. Your dripping cunt clenches all the same, even as tears dry on your face. “Well, you heard the guy, cutie. He needs to breed that pretty pussy. So you’ll have to put up with me for a little while longer.” He slides his cock along the back of your tongue, before rolling his hips into you with a long moan.
You're going to cum. Oh no, you're actually going to fucking cum from this.
Tooru must know, because his eyes glitter as he meets yours, and licks his lips. “But you don’t mind that, right, pet?”
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amorvincitomnia-14 · 2 months
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Not really an expert in love
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Leo Valdez x Aphrodite kid! reader
You are an idiot. Completely and entirely so. It's been about two weeks since the kiss and you have been avoiding Leo since. For a child of Aphrodite, you really are dense. 
It's not like you can avoid him fully; being on Argo II means there's not many places to hide. And plus you're supposed to be best friends with Leo, nobody else knows why you are suddenly running away whenever he appears. It's a shitty thing to do, you know that. But what else can you do? Are you ready for love? Was that kiss a mistake? 
So of course Annabeth tells you Leo needs help in the engine room, in a sort of way you can't say no. So here you are, standing awkwardly while you hand Leo various tools. You feel sick to your stomach, absolutely filled with nerves. How can you possibly begin to explain why you ran out on Leo?
After moments of silence, Leo speaks, “I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable with the kiss. I must have misread some signals or something” 
And your heart practically shatters. Of course he blames himself. How can you be so stupid as to hurt him? But your mouth is dry and there are no words coming out. You weren't uncomfortable with the kiss, just say that! 
“No, it's fine.” You manage to say, internally slapping yourself. A child of Aphrodite and major flirt. Yet here you are, awkward as can be. Why can't you explain your feelings? Leo deserves better. 
“Seriously though, can we talk? I don't want you to be upset with me.” Leo said, leaning back to look at you. He was dirty with oil staining his clothes, his eyes void of his usual impish gleam. You wanted to throw up. 
“What's there to talk about?” You replied, far harsher than you meant to. Leo winces, and looks away. 
“You've been avoiding me. I figure it's because of the kiss. But I don't want to lose our friendship because I misread something.” Leo replied, the sincerity in his tone making you want to cry. Why are you such an idiot?
And then you had to keep going, talking straight out of your ass. “I mean it was a mistake anyway. We can just forget it ever happened.” 
Leo looked shocked and then hurt. Like a dog tucking their tail in with defeat. You wanted to apologize and say anything to make him feel better again. But words fail. 
“Oh, if that's what you want.” Leo replied, any excitement in his eyes dying right before you. You froze, half wanting to run away and half needing to apologize. You unfortunately do the former. 
A couple days later and the rest of Argo II has had enough. Piper had taken it into her own hands. 
“Hey, can you get something in the storage room please?” Piper asked you, prompting you to agree pretty quickly. You can be nice, especially when it comes to your sister. 
You quickly realize your mistake when two things happen:
Leo is also in the storage room looking as confused as you
The door is now locked
Piper locked the door. Of course she did. You tried your best to stay calm and not act a total fool. Maybe you'll finally have your chance to apologize to Leo. Even if he looks very uncomfortable to you.
You were trying to say “I'm fucking sorry” or “Are you okay?” But unfortunately it came out as, “Are you fucking sorry?” 
You winced the same time as Leo before you quickly attempt to remedy it, “Sorry, I mean to say I'm so fucking sorry. Gods, I am so sorry.” 
Pt.2
Story in one go
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jezifster · 1 month
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Bad Stupid Idea AKA If You're My Only Option AKA Being 15 Is Hard
(AKA I recreated a scene I wrote ten years ago)
1.6k Words
Characters: Shadow and Veronica
WIP: Bones and Bullet
CW: nausea mention (butterflies in stomach way), knife mention (in a funny way)
Song: Baby by Justin Bieber, Ludacris
OCKiss24 and Excerpt Taglists: @perasperaadastrawriting @ink-flavored @ibuprofen-exe @felixvanhuss @theglitchywriterboi @enbysorcerer @kk7-rbs @kijilinn @drawnecromancy @noblebs @angsty-prompt-hole @jadefyre @little-cereal-draws @mr-nauseam @akiwitch @multi-lefaiye @writingmaidenwarrior @foxys-fantasy-tales @fearofahumanplanet @pheita @ekwilliams @void-botanist @addisons-damn-dialogue @skitzo-kero @written-in-gold @forthesanityofsome
(Like or unlike or comment on this post to be +/-)
Other Kisses
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Shadow wasn't usually bored on Sundays. It was the lightest training day of the week, he didn't have to go to class, and he almost never had homework. Not that he did his homework when he did have it, because it was boring and when words were printed on a page the letters got scrambled up. Usually homework made him cry, and his superiors had given up on punishing him for not doing it.
He spent far more time at the shooting range, gymnasium, or driving track than he ever did in class anyway, and it was apparent that his superiors cared much less if he read a book than they cared about how fast he could scale scaffolding.
Hence, Sundays weren't for homework. Most Sundays he spent with Veronica. Sometimes they got to leave the base and go to town, but even if they didn't, they always found something fun to do. But this particular Sunday, Veronica was training with the base helicopter pilot, and he wasn't allowed along. So instead, he was trying to beat his own video game scores, but that wasn't as fun without Veronica either.
Next, he practiced dancing like the instructor in the nearby town had taught him and Veronica, but he faced the same problem of her not being there.
Eventually he found himself staring at the ceiling, at the Scooby-Doo poster Veronica had gotten him for his twelfth birthday. It felt like forever ago but had only been three years. The next three years seemed even longer, and he wondered if he'd make it that far. Ever since they'd started doing missions, his 18th birthday seemed to get farther away.
He daydreamed often of what it would be like to leave. Where they would go. He assumed they'd go there together, the possibility of not being together hadn't even crossed his mind. He wished she'd just run away with him now, but for some reason she wouldn't.
He hoped it wasn't the way he kissed. Their first kiss had been one of necessity, something they'd done the night before their first mission, so neither of them would die without that out of the way. Despite the morbidity of it, Shadow had thought it was nice. She'd always been the main fixture in his thoughts, because she was his best friend. Besides the cafeteria lady who gave him extra dessert, she was his only friend.
But ever since that kiss a year ago, it was different. She made him feel sick, like he was always about to throw up, but he didn't mind it. It was a good rush, instead of the kind he got when bullets were flying around him. It was the opposite of that, but he didn't think she'd want to talk about that.
Probably because he sucked at kissing. He didn't know if that was true, but he didn't have much practice so he assumed it must be.
That's how and why he ended up in front of the mirror in his room, and at first he felt stupid. He thought he looked stupid and that his ears were too big. His teeth were nice though, but maybe his lips were too girly and that's what Veronica didn't like.
After a minute, he was too focused to feel stupid. The mirror was cold and flat and didn't at all feel like kissing a real person, but he supposed it was better than nothing. But even with his eyes closed, it wasn't anything like kissing Veronica. He hoped the practice would help anyway, and focused on his technique. He was so deep in thought that he didn't hear the knock on the door, the four taps and then two. He wasn't listening for it because Veronica wasn't even supposed to be on base.
"What in the world are you doing?"
Shadow froze, pulling away from the mirror slowly as all the blood in his body seemed to rush to his ears and face and neck.
Veronica looked like the same thing had happened to her, her cheeks bright red as she stared at him, wide-eyed from his doorway.
"Um." Shadow swallowed stiffly. "Practicing?"
Veronica was silent for what felt like forever, her mouth hanging open as she just blinked at him.
"Practicing... what exactly?"
Shadow wished the building would collapse, or that there would be a sudden fire. But nothing happened so he eventually shrugged.
"I thought you were flying today."
"Weather's bad," Veronica said, stepping inside his room and closing the door, which she stared at for a minute before turning back around, crossing her arms and tilting her head. "Can I make fun of you?"
"I'd rather you didn't," Shadow said, closing his eyes and sighing because she was going to do it anyway. And he probably deserved it. When she didn't say anything, he opened his eyes again and she was still looking at him, her expression thoughtful and that worried him.
"If you wanted to practice, you could have said something," she said, and her gaze shifted away from him and around his room before settling on the floor. He would have cleaned up if he knew she'd be in his room. He would have done a lot of things differently if he knew that. Mainly he wouldn't have been kissing his mirror.
It took him a long time to process what she said, but when he did his insides did the queasy dance they always did when he thought about kissing her and he looked at the floor too.
"You'd be... okay with that?"
He glanced at her and she glanced at him and they both looked away quickly when their eyes met.
"I mean, sure, why not? Maybe I need practice too and... like, there's not really any other options here."
"Oh," Shadow said, hoping his voice didn't give away how much he wished she would have stabbed him many times with a large knife instead of saying that. "Yeah, I guess so."
"I just didn't want you to think it like, meant anything, or that I liked you, or that you like me, because that would be stupid," she said, and Shadow considered jumping out of the window. "We've just known each other a long time and it would be really weird, you know? But like if it's just... kissing. Like we could pretend it's not each other, you know? That way it wouldn't suck as much."
"Okay," Shadow squeaked, and he hated that he squeaked but there was really no other way to describe that sound. He considered punching himself in the face.
"Unless you don't want to," Veronica was rambling and he found solace in the fact that she was also uncomfortable, though probably for entirely different reasons. "If you don't want to that's fine and, oh my god, I shouldn't have said anything. This is stupid, you're stupid. This is a bad, stupid idea, Shadow."
Shadow forced himself to lift his gaze up from the floor and was shocked to find her looking like a completely flustered mess, her hand covering her eyes, her face bright red.
"It's not stupid and I do want you," Shadow froze as she dropped her hand and somehow looked even more alarmed. "I mean I want you!" Shadow could feel his soul falling out of his body. "No! Damn it, that's not what I said. I mean that's not what I meant. I meant-yeah-I want to. Like I want to practice. And it won't be weird. I'll pretend you're..." he panicked for a second while he tried to think of someone else he'd like to kiss, his eyes darting everywhere but her until they found the ceiling and his poster. "Fred. Or it doesn't have to be Fred. Also Velma. Or Shaggy, or Daphne. Not Scooby though, that would be weird, ha ha right? So do you want to practice now?"
They stared at each other for a minute, and Shadow wondered if his face was as red as hers, but he knew it was probably redder.
"Um. I gotta go," she finally said, reaching back to fumble for the door handle. "I need a minute to like... think of someone else I want to kiss too. I mean someone, at all. Someone at all, not someone else too. I don't know why I said that. Because that would mean-" she paused to laugh, loudly and in a panicked sort of way. She finally grabbed the door handle. "Later alligator!" she practically yelled the last part.
Shadow stared at the door after she slammed it behind her, the sound of her footsteps running down the hall to her room barely audible over his racing heartbeat.
He groaned and threw himself onto his bed, putting his pillow over his face to muffle another, louder groan. That went about as badly as anything had ever gone, and his thoughts were a tangled mess he wanted to cry about.
"Kill me, kill me, kill me, oh my god," he said into the pillow.
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quills-of-freedom · 1 year
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Dream series ~
Porco Galliard
Okay so, I've upset myself writing this new chapter of Crossroads. How Isayama and other writers do it I will never know.
Anyway, it's prompted me to start the "Dream Series" where you're with your love in a modern AU and what happens to them in canon is just a horrible, horrible dream.
Requests for series are open
Female bodied Reader X Porco Galliard
Warnings: Fluff. Soft sex. Cockwarming. Praising (both ways)
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Tag list 🐙
@greeniegreengreen
@dreamerdeity
@XOYOURONLYAMORRXO
@koo-detat
@5feetofwrath
@lilshades
Your eyes fly open to be greeted by a void of blackness, the dark room creating familiar yet fuzzy shapes as your eyes focus on the amicable furniture of your bedroom. The room you share with your love -
You bolt to a sitting up position as you gather your bearings, the dream you had feeling like it had gone on forever.
"...Babe?" Porco asked, opening one eye to look at you. The open orb is squinting through the dark, his vocals drawled and half-asleep.
You flick on the bedside light, heart still hammering and the wicked heat of panic surging under your skin.
Porco immediately flinches and puts his head into his pillow to shield him from the light. "Ah, a warning next time?"
If you were in your right mind, you'd apologise. But instead, all you can do is choke on a sob, burying your face into your hands, the light chasing any and all demons from the shadow realm of nightmares back where they belong.
Porco's ear pricks when he hears your broken sob, sitting up with his bed hair sticking here, there and everywhere - eyes still squinting as his large hand softly palms your back.
"Woah, woah... hey, what's wrong?"
Turning, you throw your arms over his bare shoulders, the solid muscles beneath his skin tensing as he embraces you, holding the back of your head as if he were cradling you.
"I had the worst dream. And it felt so real. Eren was this... monster. So were you, a-and Reiner. And you were all fighting. You got hurt. Real bad. Your head was half missing and you were eaten by a - "
"Hey..." He laughs softly. "It was just a dream. It's over now. I'm here with you now, right?"
You nod, withdrawing from the embrace, his head lowering to catch your gaze.
"It wasn't real." he reiterates, fingers now running through your hair.
Using his large thumb, he pushes your tears off your cheeks, his auto "man must protect" instinct clicking on like a light switch at how precious you were, crying and trembling the way you were.
"Come on, let's get you feeling better. You want a drink?"
You shake your head as you inhale deeply, pulling yourself together.
"Tea?"
"No, thank you."
"Hmmm....Soda?"
"No."
"I know, how about a nice cold vodka?"
A smile spreads across your beautiful face. "Ew, no Porco."
His heart warms at seeing you smile, giving your arm a little squeeze.
"Alright. Let's get you back to dreamland, missy."
He felt you tense, knowing you weren't quite ready to risk going back into the unknown sovereign state of your unconscious.
"Alright..." He whispers, his nose now nuzzling at your neck. "Let me make you feel better in other ways..."
You melt instantly as his lips caress your neck, his palm sliding down your arm. "Let me show you I'm really here..." He breathes, the feeling of your soft skin instantly stirring him awake.
He catches your mouth into a deep kiss, his eyes closing while that cute pink hue brightens across the bridge of his nose; no matter how long you'd been together, he always felt so privileged and lucky to be able to have your gorgeous form to himself. He'll never take you for granted.
He gently pushes down your form, grabbing the light switch on his way down, and clicking you both back into the darkness. "I'm here, baby..." He breathes heavily, vocals quivering as he meekly climbs on top of you, his sturdy arms keeping himself hovering above you.
You nod from within the black cloud, both pairs of eyes once again adjusting to the new spectrum of vision.
He paws at the thin strap of your tank top, pulling it down your arm and freeing a breast, his warm textured tongue running up your nipple before giving it a nibble with his teeth.
A gasp escapes you at the sensation, running your fingers through his bed hair; lavishing the fact that you're the only person he allows to touch his hair.
As his strong neck works his head across your breast, his hand then grips your bare thigh firmly, tugging down your tiny bed shorts and pulling them down your beautiful pins.
"Let me make you feel safe..." He whispers as he comes back up to your neck, licking it slowly - tasting your natural skin and pheromones. "I'll keep you safe..."
"Oh Porco..." You sigh, wrapping your legs around his waist and feeling his solid manhood standing to attention under his pj bottoms.
"mmm" He hums in between deep kisses of random parts of your neck and chest. "I love it when you get needy for me, gorgeous."
Your own sex is now heated up, pulsing and throbbing on its own accord as this beautiful man who absolutely adores you makes a meal out of your skin.
"You're so perfect, Porco." You whine as he now pulls your top off you entirely.
His heart skips a beat at your words, his form taking shape now your eyes have had time to become familiar with the dark, you see his pink hue deepen to red.
"I love you..." He groans, now kissing your low stomach with such passion, you almost felt that titan steam from your dream emit from his form.
Your nails sink into the sheets as he slowly and deeply starts making out with your slit, his brows sewing together as he pleasures his queen.
Your legs tense and shudder as he groans into you, his tongue now rolling over your sensitive spot.
"Porco, ah ~ you make me feel so ~ good..."
His whimper at your words tugs at your heartstrings. You need to let him know how much he means to you, how amazing he is.
"I need you..." You breathe.
Tearing himself away he sits up, drying his mouth with the back of his wrist before hovering over you once more.
"You've got me. Always."
He pushes himself at your sex, hunching over you and gasping as he slowly slides inside, clinging to you as if you were about to be blown away to another world. Your lips part and nails cling to his arms as his girth stretches you deliciously, his pathetic whimper once he reached the hilt like music to your ears.
He stays still, you can feel his angry cock pulsing within you as it begs its master for some friction. As bad as he is at it, Porco adores cockwarming you - but his self-control is null and void and he never manages to last long. Distracting himself, he paws your hair kissing you as if you were his last meal on this earth.
You bring your legs up in a bend, resulting in him sliding in deeper.
"H'nrgh..." He grunts into your mouth, a deep breath blowing you away.
"You're my every... ah ~ tsss... my everything..." He hisses as your constrictions spasm and flex tightly around his length.
"I love you, Porco..." You whine, trying your best not to buck your hips into his. "I'm all yours..."
Your tongues dance within one another's mouth for a small while, entwining and tasting the other, wrestling gently with adoration that pours from both of your entire beings. Immersing himself into your soul, he grits his teeth and places his head against yours, his hot breath panting and blanketing your face. He whines, he whimpers, he's at your total mercy; all from just reactively tightening yourself which was half an automatic response anyway.
"Never leave me." You whisper. "Don't let this be a dream."
"If I am... I'm waiting for you, somewhere." He replies with honesty. "If i'm a dream. If i'm a character from someone else's world... I'm here, waiting for you to meet me."
A single tear threatens your eye but you blink it away wrapping your arms around his shoulders and neck, closing your eyes as you cling onto his body. "I love you."
"I love you too, princess. Just.. wait for me, okay?"
You nod as he begins to slowly withdraw himself. Your breath is taken away as he firmly thrusts back inside of you. Once. twice. Then giving up all reservations and thrusting his cock into you at a nice rhythm and pace, your hips rocking with his movements.
One arm hooks around you, keeping your body pressed against his, the other on the headboard as he rocks himself in and out of your tight squeezes, his whimpering gathering volume as well as the ferocity of his movements.
You cry out his name as he chants yours in a groan, your breasts bouncing with each powerful hit, the hit that's taking you closer to your high.
"Ah ~ babe... you feel so good... fuck... I'm close... uhuh..." His voice breaks as you come undone, shattering and breaking but at the same time becoming whole as you share your orgasm with your lover, your reflexive insides pulling him in deeper as his thick hot nut bursts with force within you, colliding with your cervix.
You lie asleep, Porco watching your soft, satisfied smile as you're cradled in his arms. His small smile of pride is evident as he gazes at your form. Juvenile pride that he just fucked you happy, but also a deep routed sense of feeling proud, that you were his. That he had made you happy. His head then turns to gaze out of the window at the moon that is slightly in the view from a sliver in the drapes. His smile fades to a thoughtful frown.
What if this was some dream?
What if he were the dream, and when she slept here - that dream world is her real world and vice versa?
His brain started to hurt so with a shake of his head, he returned his gaze to his love.
Whatever the case, wherever you might really be... he is waiting.
End.
a/n: I found an audio thing that is the closest thing I could find to what Porco's moans and whimpers sound like when he is feral. WARNING: It takes you to a porn website (a safe one, promise) so keep that in mind, don't want to give you any nasty surprises.
Here it is here. This is so close to Porco when he's going absolutely nuts for you. Ignore the dialogue at the start though.
You're welcome.
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pandafishao3 · 3 months
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Prompt for @slashtakemylife:
"Oh oh oh!! I love your fic about the Alpha pound and the collective!! So I'll throw in an aob prompt I've played in my head and see if it helps inspire you, it's pretty basic. After finding Bucky and afraid of him being taken away to jail him, Steve decides to mate Bucky and whisk him away to Avengers Tower to protect him, the avengers want to help Cap but some are uneasy on his methods and also Bucky is now in a gilded cage scenario although is better than Hydra or jail"
"Steve, what did you do?" Tony asked him, staring in shock at the rain soaked assassin cowering behind Steve. His scent was terrified and his eyes kept flickering between the Avengers and the walls as if he was trying to find an escape route.
"I rescued him". Steve's answer was deflective; his eyes voided Tony's.
"No, what did you do?" Tony demanded to know. Because even through that rancid scent of distress, he recognized the smell beneath it.
"...I mated him" Steve admitted in a quiet voice. His right hand was holding onto Bucky's arm, not letting him step far. And now that he was Bucky's alpha, it would be far harder for him to just dart away and escape.
"You WHAT?!" Clint exclaimed in disbelief, throwing his hands out.
"Steve, that's not just any stray omega, that's the Winter Soldier. You do realize that, right?" Sam frowned with his arms crossed.
Steve threw him a look and scowled. "He's my friend. And now he's my mate, so you can't expect him to leave" he defended Bucky, drawing the muscular man closer. Since Bucky was curling in on himself, he looked smaller than he was, but everyone in this tower had seen him in action.
"Come on Cap, don't be an idiot. Hydra's gonna come looking for him, to say nothing about the government. Hell, he's probably wanted by every government on Earth right now!" Tony exclaimed - he was furious Steve had taken this decision without telling any of them. As a Captain, he was too used to just going his own way.
But at the mention of Hydra, Bucky suddenly whimpered and for the first time willingly drew closer to his new alpha. Ignoring the others, Steve hurried to turn and cup the back of his head, soothingly nuzzling over it. "Shh, it's okay. They can't reach you here with me, I'll protect you now" he whispered.
"Steve, they'll come eventually - "
"They can bloody well try" Steve growled, taking Bucky's hand and marching them both straight past the other Avengers. The conversation was over.
*~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*
Bucky was shaking like a dog when Steve got him back up to his own floor and herded him into the bathrooms. The rain had soaked through all his clothes and he was dripping on the floor. Steve was rummaging around the cupboards, and when Bucky thought he wasn't looking, he observed the alpha carefully. The memories were blurry and faded, but they were still there - Bucky did know this man. He'd known him way before back when Steve had been small and they had both been omega. The serum had made Steve alpha, but obviously Zola's botched version hadn't done the same for Bucky. Instead, he was this monstrous version of an omega. The only part of his altered body that even revealed he was omega was the small cocklet between his bulging thighs. It had always stayed the same, and Hydra's soldiers had found that very amusing. Those memories stung like poison ivy in his head.
But now Bucky had a second marker of an omega. On his neck was the still sore bitemark that Steve had given him in his run-down apartment where he'd found Bucky. The assassin had been tensing up to bolt, prepared to flee rather than have to face this blurry figure of his past, but Steve had grabbed him. He'd grabbed him, wrestled him down, used electric stingers to knock out his metal arm, and then taken his neck in a Hold. Only then did Bucky calm down. His heart had still been racing in panic, but Steve had held him anyway, and just...looked at him.
"I'm taking you home, Bucky. I'll keep you safe" he'd promised. And Bucky wanted to believe him so bad it hurt.
Steve had given him the bite right there to claim him. Now when they were home, and Steve was stripping him naked of his wet clothes, Bucky knew he would finish his claim by mounting him.
"You'll have to take a bath so you won't catch a cold" Steve mumbled softly, tugging off his pants. Bucky just went along with it numbly - at least Steve wasn't going to beat him when he was naked. Right?
"I can't catch colds" he admitted back, because his alpha probably expected him to speak.
Steve met his eyes. "Right. But I still want you to get warm" he said with a gentle smile.
Bucky was scared all throughout the bath, just waiting for something bad to happen. For Steve to move the washcloth aside so he could put his fingers inside Bucky's ass, or pinch his cocklet, or pull his hair. He didn't do any of those things. He simply washed his new omega gently, until he was clean and warm and pink. The function in the metal arm was slowly coming back to him too. As soon as it did, Bucky might be able to overpower Steve and escape.
But to do so, he'd now have to push through the dominant hold Steve had over him as his alpha. Steve had been right - it would be a lot harder for Bucky to run away now.
And besides, what if he did? What if the government found him, or worse, Hydra?
Whatever they would do to him, Bucky knew it'd be a lot worse than having to spread his legs for Steve Rogers.
No, Bucky would stay. He would bite a pillow, keep still, and accept it if his alpha wanted to knot him. Even if he wanted to do it every day. Bucky would accept it, because he figured it was his best chance at protection. He'd acted the soldier before, now he'd act the bitch.
As he looked up at Steve, he felt a familiar emotion move through his chest, like seeing something glimmer at the bottom of the sea. He knew him. Bucky swallowed through the uncertainty, and Steve smiled like he was glad to have him there. Maybe...just maybe...he could find a way to enjoy what was coming tonight.
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oh-snapperss · 1 year
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hi for no particular reason and prompted by nothing in particular i'm begging for ethubs fluff. cmfort. occzy. cozy. pelase. please. pleas sfot. sfot comfy cozy soft please
anyway love you laurie <3 looking forward to totally NOT being carnally emotionally injured by your words in the very near future <333333333
omg hii shep. you asked me for a nightmare/comfort fic and uh. oh boy! i hope you like nightmare scenes!
this fic is based off the new half alive song, high up<3
Words: 3013
Read on AO3
CW: blood, nightmares, dead person (only in the nightmare), some unreality/disorienting scenes, general horror vibes?? i swear this is comfort in here LMAO
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Things start out quite simple. The dark surrounds Etho. Etho waits to respawn. It’s nothing new, he must’ve been in the void between respawns a hundred, no, a million times.
As more time passes, and no respawn happens, Etho finally feels a spark of fear. The darkness of the void hasn’t ever been particularly appealing, especially since he’s been falling in it for hours. There’s no wind, no melody, no noise at all to help break the crushing feeling of the void.
Is he trapped here? Where was he before this? How long has it been? Where is Bdubs?
he is falling and alone and falling and still alone and falling and falling and–
“Wake up, wake up!”
His shoulder is being shaken, he’s not in the void, he’s… he’s lying down. There’s a quilt over the lower half of his body, twisted in such a way it’s clear either him or Bdubs has been thrashing about. There’s a snuffed out candle on the nightstand beside him, and the room is swathed in shadows and a stillness only found in the middle of the night. Chest heaving, heart pounding, it’s all he can do to keep himself from–
Bdubs.
He flips around, quilt still tangled in his legs, and comes face to face with a dead man.
Blood drips from Bdubs’ shoulder, and Etho knows the warmth on his side is more blood seeping into his shirt from the second arrow wound in Bdubs’ side. Bdubs’ grins, two teeth missing, and his black eye is… well, it’s certainly not comforting.
“Bad dream, sweetheart?” Bdubs croons, and his voice is all wrong. It’s not his Bdubs. This Bdubs has a smile too wide. “Bad dreams, when you couldn’t even keep me alive? When you were too selfish to care?”
This Bdubs reaches a hand towards Etho, caressing his cheek with a gentleness Etho is certain he shouldn’t possess. But then Etho feels a stickiness against his cheek, and registers the warmth of blood on his face. Etho scrambles backwards, unable to help the gut reaction of panic and disgust and get that off NOW! He falls off the bed, trapped between the bed and the wall. Grasping at nothing, he tries to fly to his feet to run, but the quilt is still twisted around his legs. It holds him there, a sitting duck and keeping him from getting OUT-
He pulls upward with the nightstand, and…
The blanket is gone, along with the bed. He’s in the woods. There’s a splish-splash of running water nearby, and Etho heaves a sigh of relief at the thought of washing the blood off his face. The moon overhead is full, casting the jungle with more light than most nights.
Etho moves towards the water, although as he draws near, he realizes it’s flowing a lot slower than any creek he’s ever seen. Kneeling down, twigs pressing into his shins uncomfortably, he reaches down towards the dark liquid, mesmerized at the red color. Somewhere in his mind, a warning bell sounds. Is water red?
Something is wrong.
“Etho?”
“No, no, no, no-” It takes less than a second to turn around, stumble backwards, away from his husband, away from the stench that can only come from a decomposing body. Bdubs limps forward, and the leaves around him turn red from the blood still dripping from the three arrows embedded in his body.
“You could have stopped this, cutie,” Bdubs smiles again, and Etho wants to throw up at how disgustingly un-Bdubs his expression is.
Etho keeps scooting backwards, unable to tear his eyes away from his lover, from… the thing his lover has become.
“Urgh!” Etho yelps as his hand dips into the creek. It’s not cold or refreshing, it’s warm, and as he throws himself further back from Bdubs, his other hand gets covered too. When he stands, breaking into a sprint, a cursory glance downward almost makes him scream. His hands are covered in blood.
“Wait for me, don’t leave me again.”
God, he doesn’t want to, he wants to turn around and be brave, but there’s no saving Bdubs in his state, and–
And Etho is a coward.
And it’s Etho’s fault.
When he trips on the vines he’s hardly surprised. The jungle always did seem sinister (was he in a jungle before?), and as they wrap around his legs, forcing him down to the ground, holding him still, tightening around his waist… it's all he can do to keep struggling. He pulls and pulls at the vines, but they wrap around his hands too, forcing him still to face… face his own…
“Don’t run away, my dear!”
Etho snaps his gaze up from the vines now reaching his waist, and there he is. There’s more blood on Bdubs now.
“‘Dubs… I tried to save–” Etho begins to plead, but Not-Bdubs cuts him off with a snarl, and lunges forward, hands outstretched and–
And…
The vines release him, and it’s… he’s not in the jungle anymore.
It’s still night, but he’s in the shopping district now. The place feels silent, but Etho knows it must be late. Huh. Maybe he should go home? Etho’s never been one to fall asleep randomly, but… he must have been out just slightly too late and exhausted himself. Man, he’s not even sure what project he was working on today.
Okay, bed time.
Etho reaches for his rockets, and then realizes he doesn’t have any. That’s odd.
Wait, hang on… this is the wrong season. He’s in the Big-Eyes shopping district, and… and the ground is shaking.
Glancing up at the sky, Etho realizes.
It’s the end of the world.
Chunks of grass fly into the air, followed by rocks and bits of builds. Etho’s pretty sure there’s a flying pig. The ground shakes, and it takes a second for him to regain his balance. He grabs onto the nearest wood pole to keep himself from tripping over, then clutches it for dear life when he feels himself float upwards towards the ginormous moon in the sky.
There’s fires breaking out, and Etho can hear the distant screams of villagers and animals as meteorites crush them before the moon itself can. One of the shops nearby breaks into pieces, and his arm is grazed by a flying bit of wood. Etho winces as his feet hit the ground with more weight than needed, but then he’s tearing down the steps and toward the water. He’s gotta get out of here.
BOOM. Etho stops short at the wave bearing down on him from whatever just hit the sea, and just manages to avoid being soaked through and crushed by it.
Was the water… was it red? Why was the water red? Why is he even here? Hadn’t Bdubs been the only one left when–
“Bdubs!” gasps Etho, and this time he hears it.
Beyond the screaming, the spray of water, the sound of the literal apocalypse, there’s a jukebox playing.
This time, Etho doesn’t run.
The familiar tune guides him, feet carrying him to the place he’s only ever been told of. Bdubs had told him what happened, once, with tears on his face and fear in his eyes. He stayed because Etho had promised he would be there.
His feet move on their own. Etho knows where Bdubs was at the end, and as his feet carry him around the final corner, he’s proven right.
His husband stands alone, facing away from Etho and towards the moon. The jukebox is beside him, and… and Bdubs flinches when a rock hits the ground at his feet.
There are three arrows sticking out of him still. All of them are in his back, and the blood dripping down from his body makes a grotesque pool at his feet. Something keeps Etho from stepping any closer, and yet he can’t make himself flee.
“He promised he would come,” mutters Bdubs, and his fingers turn white where they clench the moss cloak Etho has come to associate him with.
I’m here, Etho wants to scream, I wanted to save you, I would have come–
“No you wouldn’t. And you didn’t.” Bdubs turns to face him with soulless eyes and an expression devoid of life. “You weren’t here, you didn’t care, don’t lie to me.”
Etho sinks to his knees, because Bdubs is right that he wasn’t there, he wasn’t there and Bdubs was alone and died and it’s all his own fault, it’s Etho’s fault, and–
“Go on and run,” Bdubs commands, and there’s something in his unforgiving and emotionless tone that sets Etho free. “Go and be selfish, go home, Etho.”
Etho glares up at the sky, in time to see the moon fill the entire sky.
It doesn’t crush him, but he’s helpless when it crushes Bdubs, burying him under rock and rubble and broken promises.
“Etho? Etho!”
The sound of screaming fills the air, and Etho thrashes to get away, get away from it, run–
(There’s a snuffed out candle on the bedside table. The room is cast in shadows not unlike before.)
“Etho, hey now-” A familiar voice comforts him (comfort? No, that can’t be right), and a hand lands on his shoulder. Etho can only move backwards get AWAY–
He wheezes, unable to catch his breath. “No, please, no–”
It’s his fault it’s his fault Bdubs died and it’s all his fault he could have saved Bdubs but he was too selfish.
“Shh, shh, it’s fine, what’s wrong?” Bdubs stares at him with far more concern than Etho deserves. The screaming has stopped, and Etho realizes belatedly it was his own cries.
It’s then he realizes that this Bdubs isn’t covered in blood, and is real, although Etho’s legs are tangled in their quilt just like before. He kicks away the quilt, sending it tumbling over the foot of their bed with too much force.
Bdubs is in front of him, breathing and alive. His lip is trembling slightly, and there’s no sign of the arrows or black eye… and it’s not–
“Moon big?” Etho croaks, and Bdubs eyes widen. His arms circle himself, tugging at his sleeves. It’s a nervous habit Bdubs picked up at some point when Etho wasn’t around, and already Etho wants to kick himself, he knows better than to–
“No… moon is small tonight,” Bdubs confirms, as though to reassure himself. Etho sags in relief, before stiffening again. He’s got no right to feel fear at the moon when it was Bdubs who died by it.
“You gonna tell me what–” Bdubs gestures at him, “--all this is about?”
Bdubs is right, Etho’s in a state. Between his haggard breathing, shivering violently against the cool breeze coming from the window, and general panic, it’s obvious Etho isn’t ok.
He doesn’t have a right to comfort though, does he? Not when he left Bdubs, he let him die not once but multiple times, he broke his promises and Bdubs suffered for it.
“...’m fine,” Etho chokes out, and he forces back the tears still growing at the edge of his eyes.
“You’re lying,” Bdubs says, frowning at him. Etho wants to rip his hand away when Bdubs takes it between both of his, gently massaging it. “What’s goin’ on?”
But he can’t, he can’t speak, he should be comforting Bdubs, hell, he shouldn’t even be in their bed after the way he’s betrayed Bdubs, he doesn’t deserve forgiveness.
A strangled noise makes its way out of his throat, and as much as Etho wants to be held, he pulls away.
He ignores the hurt in Bdubs’ eyes. He deserves to hold someone better.
And yet, Bdubs just sits there, legs crossed on the bed and waiting. He lets Etho breathe for a few more minutes, hands still hovering where Etho pulled away.
“Etho…” Bdubs tries again. “You know… you can tell me anything?” He reaches forward again, wrapping his hands around both of Etho’s hands. Etho is too weak to pull away. He wants to be held, he wants it so badly and he’s so selfish for it.
“You’re still cryin’, sweetheart,” Bdubs squeezes Etho’s right hand, then drops it to move his hand to Etho’s face. He wipes at Etho’s cheek, wiping away the tears that Etho hadn’t realized were still rolling down his face. “Whatever happened, better to talk about it, don’t ya think?”
“I shouldn’t,” Etho whispers, and he knows he’s right. His chest aches and aches, and it’s deserved. His own to bear.
“Why not? I wanna hear,” Bdubs blinks at him, and the corners of his lips turn upward into a mimicry of a smile. “You know I love you?”
“But you shouldn’t!” Etho bursts out, startling Bdubs into lurching slightly backwards. “Sorry, sorry, I didn’t mean to–” he cuts himself off with a groan and a hiccuping sob.
“No, no, it’s okay!” Bdubs recovers quickly, and moves his hand back down to hold Etho’s and thumb over his palm gently. “What in the world are you talkin’ about, me not supposed to love you?”
Etho clamps his mouth shut, determined not to make himself seem like the one deserving comfort. Minutes and more minutes pass, and Bdubs hums the same tune that played in Etho’s nightmare. Etho recognizes it now for what it is–it’s their song, he’s heard it a thousand times and danced to it with Bdubs almost as many. Soft, comforting notes that typically help Etho relax and feel safe-–this time it does little to calm Etho. But then Bdubs traces letters into Etho’s hands, declaring love over and over into his palms, and Etho can’t help but shift forward slightly. It does not help him keep his resolve to stay silent.
Bdubs’ hums trail off into silence, and Etho finally speaks.
“I… I’m so sorry.”
He can tell Bdubs is looking inquisitively, but he won’t look at Bdubs’ eyes now (just in case he finds them to be as soulless as in his nightmare).
“I should’ve saved you… I could have, I could have given you that life… there was no reason not to and–” Etho chokes on his own words for a moment before continuing. “I left you and betrayed you and–”
Bdubs is already shaking his head in denial, and squeezes Etho’s hands in reassurance. Etho keep going.
“And… and I left you alone on season eight, and you were alone and waited for me and I was just off doing nothing useful on my own world because I’m selfish and I didn’t wanna face you after I caused your death, and… and then you died again and it was my fault!” Etho tries to pull his hands away, but Bdubs’ grip is too strong.
“You shouldn’t love me, Bdubs,” Etho chuckles humorously, but sounds more like a sob. “You deserve someone who isn’t selfish and a betrayer and a killer.” Your killer, something whispers into Etho’s mind, and he can’t argue with it.
The death grip Bdubs has on his hands loosens.
That’s it, then, and Etho moves to leave their bed, but then…
“You’re stupid if you think that,” Bdubs’ voice is steady, and before Etho can back away, Bdubs reaches forward one more time, arms outstretched. “Etho, look at me.”
He doesn’t. He can’t. How could he look into the eyes of someone he’s practically been the death of? What if Bdubs’ eyes are dead and empty, and–
“Etho… please look at me,” Bdubs repeats, and Etho catches the tinge of hurt in his voice this time.
He can’t hurt Bdubs anymore.
Achingly slow, Etho raises his head to finally look his Bdubs in the eyes. He’s expecting them to be empty, uncaring, and probably full of deserved hatred.
Instead, he’s met with the same warmth Bdubs has always reserved for him, the same adoration Etho first recognized back on another world. Big brown eyes gaze at him, filled with more love than Etho has ever deserved.
“You’re stupid if you think that I’m just gonna stop lovin’ you,” Bdubs smiles, slightly watery, and Etho feels the same ecstatic rush he always does when Bdubs’ looks at him.
He shouldn’t, oh, he shouldn’t, he doesn’t deserve it at all.
“C’mere, sweetheart,” Bdubs nods encouragingly. “Let me love you, please.”
That’s what makes Etho break, makes him lurch forward into Bdubs’ waiting arms. It’s not the first time he’s had a nightmare, and he’s sure it won’t be the last. It’s not a perfect hug, but he curls his fingers into Bdubs’ shirt, falling into his arms desperately. Bdubs tilts Etho’s head up, and Etho feels like he’s flying in the sky with the way Bdubs looks at him so utterly filled with love. There’s no hatred to be found, and Etho knows despite his imperfections and selfishness and mistakes, Bdubs still loves him.
Bdubs shifts so that one of his hands can rest in Etho’s hair, and he runs his hand through it, detangling the strands from where it’s become knots and a mess. Once he’s done, Etho can feel him playing with a part of it, forming the tiniest braid at the nape of his neck.
It’s been a long time since Bdubs has done that. Etho knows Bdubs should have a braid of his own, around the back of his head. It’s a promise, and Etho knows that this time he’ll keep it.
He’s high up, higher than his imperfections, and it hurts to know the love Bdubs has for him. It consumes him, he doesn’t deserve it, and yet–
Etho thinks he can learn to live with it, and he lets Bdubs love him, lets Bdubs press his lips against Etho’s in reassurance.
but when you look at me i’m lifted high up
higher than my rain clouds
sitting on the mountain now i’m high up
never wanna come down
when you look at me i’m lifted
you saw me cowered in the corner
& offered me a second chance
now every night i wrestle Love
didn’t know that it could hurt this much
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slowips · 1 year
Text
obvious
kaeya / reader
“wait— you— you what.” “it’s a shocker, i know, but you’d think you would have caught on by now considering how obvious i’ve been.”
# reader is oblivious, kissing, 1.1k words.
series / prompt
. ⁺ .   ˚ ✦ .  + ⁺    . ✦
in another universe, kaeya thinks as he swirls the half-empty cup in his hands, it will be much easier to court you. perhaps, funnily enough, what if he swapped places and was the oblivious one instead?
he chuckles and swallows that thought down with wine. there was no point in loosing himself in such fantasies when you were right here — literally — as the bartender of angel’s share.
“care to refill my cup?” he asks as he pushes his drink forward. you’re rubbing a wine glass dry, focused on not accidentally dropping it, but you pause your task to give him a long, unbelievable stare. “i’ll wash this cup if you’ll let me,” he adds.
your expression holds the ghost of questions you used to ask him.
why aren’t you leaving? won’t master diluc be angry that you’re here past opening hours? are you going to pay?
his answer never changes.
i want to walk you home. he doesn’t have to know if it’s a secret kept between us. of course i’m paying, i’m no thief.
“i’m the bartender,” you remind, taking the opened bottle of wine and pouring it into his cup. “you’re the customer. i'm not letting you behind the counter.”
kaeya laughs at your straightforwardness, or rather the lack of it. he knows what you actually mean is that master diluc wouldn't be too pleased his estranged brother will not only be breaking one rule but two. “you didn't have to state the obvious.”
“if it was obvious, then you wouldn't have proposed such a funny thing,” you reply. after returning the cup, you continue washing.
he wants to tease you about this “obviousness” you speak off. so many things tend to fly over your head, you should be the last person to explain “obvious”.
it has been 3 months since he started walking you home.
(“why are you here?”
“figured you might need a knight in shining armour to escort you home.”
“but there is no imminent danger.”
“oh, there are plenty lurking in the night.”)
3 weeks since he started staying at your place.
(“you’re not homeless?”
“couldn’t there be other reasons why i want to live with you? perhaps, because…”
“because what?”
“look. the favonius headquarters is just around the corner. this place is a steal for a calvary captain who wants a bit more sleep.”).
2 weeks since rumours begun to spread that there was something going on between you and kaeya.
how he wish it was true.
the bar is void of others. the loud chatter has dissipated and all that's left is the sound of running water, clinking of glass, and kaeya's periodic tapping on the wooden counter top. he’s feeling cheeky today, so he traces with his finger “i love you” in the ancient scripts of his home country.
you don’t seem to notice, but that’s fine. he’s used to it.
chairs tucked in, lights dimmed except for the one over the counter, the tavern is prepared for the night, but yours has only just begun.
clean the kitchen, arrange the shelves, check the storage, prepare bottles for tomorrow, throw out the trash… the list of chores for closing feels endless.
after everything is done (his cup of wine cleaned too), you lock up the tavern. the city seems to be frozen in time—not a single soul in sight—if not for the fluttering of street banners thanks to the night gale.
“home?” you ask the obvious.
“home,” he replies anyway.
the silence is normally filled with small talk—him asking about your day, talking about the lack of horses on his side and speculations on the future, sometimes—but it’s hard when your face is scrunched up.
“something bothering you?” he inquires. you slow your pace as if reluctant to reach your apartment.
“master diluc knows,” you mumble, “this is probably the last we can walk home together because he’ll be at the tavern more often. i’m sorry, it was supposed to be our little secret.”
kaeya wishes he could immortalise your pout.
“it’s alright, he can’t kick a me if i’m not a customer. i’ll wait for you outside so there’s nothing to worry about. unless… you plan to kick me out your house too.” the last bit was meant as a joke, but when you stop in your track and grip the ends of your attire, his heart drops.
“actually… there’s been… rumours… and…” you start, eyes glued to the floor. he takes a step closer to you causing you to lift your head, eyes filled with resolve but mouth hesitating to continue.
have you noticed? are you uncomfortable? he doesn’t have the courage to ask, afraid of the answer.
“and?” he prompts, crossing his arms. it comes out softer than he intends, yet its weight breaks your gaze that falls to the floor again.
“and, i think it would be better if you return to your home. i don’t want people to misunderstand and think that you like me when you’re the most—”
“i like you.”
“—charming bachelor— wait— you— you what?”
his heart thumps erratically; fingers shaking as he tries to keep his cool. he didn’t intent to say those words out loud.
“it’s a shocker, i know,” he’s quick to recover, “but you’d think you would have caught on by now considering how obvious i’ve been.”
“ob-obvious?” you sputter, leaning back as your hands cover your face. “were you— you— when?”
his lips lift into a smile as his worries disappear, although replaced by the rush of adrenaline that doesn’t stop his heart from drumming. of course. what else did he expect from the densest person in tevyat?
“knowing this, would you kick me out of your house now?” he’s tempted to close the gap between you and him, bask in the heat emanating from you in this chilly night, or maybe tease for a hug.
“you’re drunk,” you lower your hands, face in full view with a phantom of a grin. it’s you who closes the gap despite your words, as if you’re hoping this isn’t a dream. your hand is on his arm, clasping it like you’ll fall without his support. your warmth burns through his attire.
“may i remind you i only had two cups. you of all people should know my limit, and you haven’t answered my question.”
“i— i don’t know,” you whisper, “but do you really mean it?”
he is reminded of first time you talked him out of his little misery party in angel’s share, the way the ceiling lights lit you up like an angel. or the time you dragged his drunken ass back home and all he remembered was the determination yet gentleness in your eyes.
his heart is in this throat. he feels sick to know that you don’t trust his words, but really, who can?
his hands find their way to your cheeks, and he leans in for a kiss instead.
───・
requested by anon / older sister work
129 notes · View notes
lucifers-horror-harem · 5 months
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Winter Warning
Hi all! I know this one was technically for last week but shhhhhh last week was busy and now I've finally got some time off to catch up. Anyway, this is for Week 4 of @the-slasher-files Blood Fest, hope y'all enjoy!!
Warnings: ***Dub/Non Con***, alone in the middle of the woods with an asshole kidnapper, dead dove don't eat. Rough, quick and dirty, the reader doesn't get off, kidnapping, restraints, knives/threats with knives. Word Count: ~3k Prompts: Mask. Knives. Keywords: Enliven. Raw.
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You’re met with your own face reflected back, eyes widened in fear. Your face is covered in flecks of snow, collecting there as your body heat is too slow to melt them. There are simply too many. The mirror is surrounded by darkness, a void in the middle of this snowstorm you’ve gotten caught in. In a way, you’re almost certain you’ve died out here from the cold, and death has come to take you.
“Whatchu doing out here like this? Get lost?”
You blink slowly. The darkness spoke. With a Southern accent, no less. But it begins to slowly dawn on you that this isn’t death, and you’re not dead. The mirror is ski goggles, wrapped around in shiny reflective material. The darkness is merely the hood of a coat and a scarf over a face. 
“Shit, you still in there?”
This time you nod, unsure of how to properly respond. There isn’t enough energy in you to muster anything meaningful. Your legs feel like lead and your face feels numb from the cold. You’d been hiking and suddenly a snowstorm hit, and you’d gotten turned around. Even now, you can barely see five feet from your face. 
“Well c’mon. Cabin’s not too far from here.”
A heavy gloved hand wraps around your forearm, pulling you along before you can say as much as boo. But would you have really said no? He’s the only one you’ve seen out here, and you had no proper shelter and nothing in your bag to keep you fed if this storm took longer to pass. So you followed, as there really wasn’t much choice if you didn’t want to become a popsicle. 
His cabin wasn’t far at all. In fact, you most certainly would have stumbled upon it eventually. Tucked away in the trees, the snow wasn’t as harsh on your face as he dragged you along. Once inside, warmth hit you in waves, and you sighed in relief as your face began to feel a tad less numb. You were standing in a mud room, cluttered with outerwear and boots and shoes and all manner of things. Your savior pulled back his hood and ripped off his scarf, his jaw firm and dusted with scruff. As he pulls the mirrored goggles up, you’re met with piercing blue eyes, narrowed as they look back at you. This throws you for a bit of a loop, as you expected a far more friendly face. But everything about him was firm, hardened, and cold. It was almost as if there was a hint of disdain in his eyes, even though everything about him so far seemed to be at the very least helpful. 
“Ya just gonna stand there freezing to death? Or ya need help?” 
Before you can say anything, he’s kneeling in front of you. You hiss in pain as your legs start to gain feeling when he pulls off your boots. Your socks are wet, you hadn’t thought you needed taller boots today. You unzip your jacket and toss it on an empty chair as Boone removes your socks. His bare hands are warm on your raw skin, and he rubs your foot firmly as a way to bring back some circulation. As you awkwardly place your hand on his shoulder for stability. 
“Sorry… thanks…” your voice is small as it comes out, and he stands up abruptly, tossing his own coat to the side. He’s in actual proper layers for this weather, a heavy tan Carhartt jacket on top of a hooded coat, and he’s wearing heavy overalls under that. He throws you a glance as he undoes the straps, and you see he’s wearing discolored jeans underneath it all. “I… uh… didn’t realize the weather was going to be that bad…”
“No shit,” he tosses back, and you feel a bit lost for words. He didn’t have to let you into his home, so why was he so stiff? Perhaps he just didn’t like people but felt obligated to help anyway. 
As you go to follow him deeper into the cabin, he stops you. “You’re gonna catch hypothermia in those.” He gestures to your jeans, soaked through and cold. You nod, as if that’s obvious, and try to continue, but he stops you again. “Take ‘em off.”
This causes you to stop. Stuck with a strange man in a strange cabin in the middle of God knows where without pants. Sheepishly, you offer, “Do you have something I can change into?”
He merely nods. “Don’t want ya tracking it through the place though.” He did have a point… yet you still felt like everything was wrong here. Before you could even try to work your way around this, he adds, “There’s more shame in being dead from something ya could’ve prevented than whatever stupid modesty shit you’re worried about, kid.”
You bristle a bit, but you know he’s right. After a few moments, you reach down to your belt, undoing it as he watches, seemingly annoyed. There’s still a struggle as the wet fabric clings to your legs, and it feels embarrassing having him watch you fight with such a simple task. But finally, you’re free from them, standing in just your underwear and hoodie before him. At the very least, his gaze doesn’t seem to be leering, and he turns without a word and walks through the door. 
Walking through the kitchen and into the living room, you wished you still had socks on. The man has a mud room but the place still looks like the floors haven’t been vacuumed. At least it’s all hardwood and throw rugs. But what you’re more focused on is the fireplace at the far side of the room, and the man throws a blanket onto the floor for you to sit right in front of it. As you sink down, the heat begins to envelop you, your skin slowly coming alive again as your limbs begin to tingle. The man drapes another blanket over your shoulders to cover you, and he turns to leave the room. “Wait-” You stop him and he turns. “What’s your name?”
He stares at you for a few moments, until he answers. “Boone.”
“Thank you, Boone. This is really kind of you.”
His eyes are still an enigma to you, unable to read his emotions as he assesses the sight of you before him. But finally, he merely nods and turns to leave. 
--
Over the course of a few hours, Boone was incredibly attentive, if not mildly unenthused with his new company. He brought you hot coffee, black, and you gulped the bitter liquid down. It was better to have something warm to drink than nothing at all. He had brought you sweatpants that were a bit baggy on you, as well as heavy wool socks. Even though you were feeling far too warm now, you couldn’t help but stay right where you were. You never wanted to feel cold again.
The longer you sat on the floor, the more Boone seemed to linger. He didn’t continue any conversations when you tried to initiate it. Even when you told him your name, he didn’t bother to use it. It was like he fit the solitary man in the middle of the woods trope perfectly. His eyes continued to look you over, not necessarily in a dirty way, but one that made you feel small and meek. You started to wonder just what was on his mind, considering he wouldn’t speak up every time you tried. 
“Is it still going to be bad out there for a while, you think?”
Boone, who was leaning back against the windowsill, gave a sideways glance to the window. “Probably.” 
“Can’t you look on your phone or something?” 
“Don’t got one.” 
Again, that feeling of being in the middle of nowhere with this man is sinking in. But you do your best to shrug and act like it’s no big deal. “Oh, well, I’ve got one in my bag. I can grab it and check.”
His response is quick. “Don’t bother. Got no service out here anyway.” Boone seems to be rather nonchalant, but there’s something there that detracts from whatever calm demeanor he’s trying to convey. His eyes are narrow, almost glaring down at you for the suggestion. So you simply nod and pretend you never asked.
After a little bit, the anxiety begins to eat away at you. Whatever is going on, you’d feel safer with your phone. You don’t know if he’s telling the truth about service. You might be closer to town than you think. So, to seem a bit less conspicuous, you ask. “Can I use the bathroom?”
“Second door on the left.” He barely so much as glances at you as he stares outside. It makes you relieved that he seems to be more occupied with something else rather than you. 
You end up going to the bathroom anyway while you’re there, and splash some water on your face. Trying to reassure yourself that you’ll be fine, you look at yourself in the mirror again. Your eyes look just as wide as they were before, like a deer in the headlights. You rub your palms over your face, trying your best to ignore it all. Nothing is going to happen to you. That sort of thing only happens in horror movies. He’s not going to gut you and skin you like some wild game. 
As you exit the bathroom, that thought enters your mind again. You need your phone. You need to check. So, you slowly pad back to the mud room, trying to not work yourself up in a tizzy. You’ll grab your phone from your pack, you’ll see he was right, and everything will be fine. 
But when you stop in the doorway, you see that your pack is gone. Your clothes are still there, Hell even the jeans he said he’d hang to dry are still in a wet heap on the floor. The terror begins to twist and bubble in your stomach, panic flooding your veins. This was wrong. This was all wrong. And everything you felt wasn’t just you being silly. It was right. You were right.
“Got lost?”
You don’t even turn around, your feet launch from the floor as you try to make a run for it, run out the door, but his arm wraps around you faster. There’s a pinch on your neck, and at first, you figure it’s his hold on you, but your brain begins to piece together your surroundings more clearly, even with your heart thumping in your ears. It’s a blade. A big, fuck you blade. Pressed against your neck.
“Where’d ya think you’re going, kid? Huh?” His gravelly voice is low, taunting in your ear. “You gonna go outside in that? It’s even worse than what I found ya in. You’ll be dead before ya make it anywhere safe.”
All you can manage are pathetic little whimpers as you stand on tip toes, trying to push yourself away from the blade but end up leaning further against his chest. His hot breath is on your neck, one arm securely around your middle and the other on your throat with that blade. Weak hands pull at his arm, but he’s too strong for you to fight back. It’s useless. 
“Let’s go back inside, hmm? Get your blood pumping again.” 
You’re unceremoniously dragged back into the cabin, back to the living room, all the while trying your best to squirm away from the knife pressed against your neck. Tears prick your eyes as you try desperately to calm yourself down. You’re trapped. There’s no getting out of this. You need to placate him or else you’ll be dead. Even if there’s a chance you’ll be dead either way…
Pushed onto the floor, he climbs over your body, knee pressed between your shoulder blades as you cry out. He grabs a fistful of your hair, tugging it as he forces you to turn to look up at him. The cruel smile and sharp gaze are the most emotion you’ve seen out of the man the entire time you’ve been here. Your heart is thudding in your chest, your throat dry as you try your best not to squirm, the blade still ever-present. 
He tilts his head slightly, clicking his tongue as he takes it all in. “Ya know, maybe if you’d have been smarter and not decided to hike in the goddamn winter, ya wouldn’t be here. Pretty stupid’ve ya to do.”
All you can do is nod, bottom lip quivering. After a moment, you whisper softly. “I don’t want to die.”
He snickers at that. “‘Course not. No one dumb enough to trespass ever does.” The flat of the blade taps against your throat, taunting you. “But if ya make it worth my while… ya might not have to. Your choice.”
There is no choice. Who would choose death? “...Okay…” the word sounds so pitiful, but it seems to please him. 
The blade still lingers by your throat, his knee lifting from you as you can breathe a bit easier. The hand holding your hair frees itself, instead going to the sweatpants of his you’re wearing and shucks them down. You can barely stand to look back, your gaze focused on the floor. 
But his hand is soon between your thighs, and you can’t help but yelp and squirm as he chuckles in your ear. “Feels like yer already desperate for it,” his breath low and raspy in your ear as you struggle to not feel shame at your body’s natural reaction to this. To being manhandled and pushed around and taken control of. It was no use denying it, so you don’t. He wouldn’t care anyway. 
Even if you’ve mentally prepared for what will happen, he doesn’t give you much time for it. Not when he seems to have himself free before you can even realize it, and your underwear and sweats bunched around your thighs as he pushes himself in from behind. You cry out, hands pressed against the floor as he groans deep in his chest, his member thicker than you anticipated. The blade moved to the nape of your neck, his free hand grasping your hip as he barely gave you time to adjust.
“Fuck…” His breath is hot on your neck, his hips merciless as you struggle to keep your face from being pushed further against the floor. “Can’t believe you were keepin’ this from me…” As if it was on purpose. “So fuckin’ tight…”
You struggle to relax, to try to ride this out. It doesn’t help that it truly feels good, the stretch of him against your walls, his body heavy against yours as he just… takes you. He’s ruthless, all in chasing his own high as he uses you for his own release. 
It doesn’t take him long before his hips begin to stutter, his grip bruising on your hip as he growls incoherently in your ear. You try to squirm, but it’s no use. It only seems to speed up the inevitable. He spills inside you, warmth spreading through you as you whimper softly at the feeling. Your sex is tingling with unfulfilled need, and you know he’s not kind enough to return the favor. You’ll be left wanting. You don’t know what’s worse, Boone satisfying you or leaving you wanting more. 
There’s a shuddering sigh of relief that hisses from your lips, your body relaxing. It was finally over. You’d be given a break, you could relax and recoup and figure out what you’d do next. You should have known it wouldn’t be that simple. 
As soon as his hands are on you again, there’s a struggle as he forces you up, the knife clattering to the floor, forgotten. You’re tossed over his shoulder like a sack, and you’re unable to keep your cool, you pound on his back with your fists, legs kicking wildly as he grips your thighs to his chest with a strength that terrifies you. It’s not long before he’s forcing you down a dim set of stairs, the realization filling you with dread. 
What you can see of the basement is dark and lonely, but fairly clean. There are rows of shelves of goods, but none you can focus on right now. You’re tossed onto a soft surface, and as you realize it’s a dingy mattress, everything grows more clear. Even more when he wrestles with your legs, pants still around your thighs and making it difficult to fight back. A cuff is secured tightly to your left ankle, and the tears flow freely now as you yell and scream and tell him it’s not fair, you did what he wanted, he couldn’t do this to you. 
All it does is make him laugh. “What? Didja think I’d give ya free reign of the place? Let ya share my bed?” His hand comes to your chin, forcing you to look into those soulless eyes. “Y’ain’t special enough for that, kid. No one is.” 
He ignores your curses and spitting and weak punches, merely stepping out of your way as you struggle to move yourself too far with the ankle cuff. He turns and tosses a blanket at you, one that you’re shocked is somewhat heavy. “Be good, and if ya aren’t hollering too much, I’ll bring ya dinner.”
And with that, he turns back to the stairs, all while you yell incoherently back at him. The door slams, leaving you, your thoughts, and a single dim bulb illuminating the cellar. Slowly, it dawns on you that this might be a fate worse than death.
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nickydestati · 2 years
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duolingo tog prompts #19
It’s been a long, long time, but I missed this so much and hope to be a little more active again in the near future. Anyway, this prompt inspired me so much, so have this little fic. I hope you enjoy it!! 💖
prompt: you want to forget me (ti vuoi dimenticare di me)
*
Nicolò feels like throwing up. He wipes his sweaty palms on his trousers for what feels like the hundredth time.
Now. He’s going to ask it now. Okay, now then. On second thought, perhaps in a minute would be better.
Why is this so damn hard?
He knows why, of course. Because he has wrongfully besieged Yusuf’s home and killed him in the most horrifying ways possible. Because he has been a monster and would have to spend all his infinite lifetimes to atone for what he has done before he could ever be forgiven. Because asking Yusuf to stay together even though they have found the two women from their dreams and there is absolutely no sane reason for Yusuf to spend one more heartbeat in Nicolò’s abhorrent presence is the epitome of hubris.
What has possessed him to even consider this plan? 
He has come to know Yusuf’s kind heart. His warmth, his ever-smiling eyes. He has mistaken his innate kindness for something else, something impossible. He is a fool for putting so much hope in his delusions.
But it seems he has been a fool all his life. One more day won’t make a difference, will it?
It has to be now. Andromache and Quynh are out on a personal errand for a couple of days, and he doesn’t know if such an opportunity will present itself again in time.
God, this is worse than dying.
He opens his mouth to ask his question, the question, nerves sizzling through his body, but to his surprise, Yusuf speaks first.
“Tomorrow it is, then?” he asks, his eyes fixed on the flames between them. His voice sounds heavy, dragging the evening air down.
For a moment, Nicolò is too confused to speak. “Tomorrow is what?”
“The day we say our goodbyes and go our separate ways.” 
The ground tilts beneath Nicolò’s feet. He feels like throwing up again, but for entirely different reasons. This can’t be happening.
But Nicolò knows this is the only possible course of reality. Any other scenario is just a feeble figment of his pathetic imagination. The way Yusuf avoids meeting his gaze only confirms it. That blankness in his usually vibrant eyes is only ever reserved for Nicolò.
It was foolish to think, even for but a second, that he could ever be worthy of forgiveness.
So he swallows the burning tears down and says, “Very well.”
____
Nicolò has always been a light sleeper. So when a twig breaks somewhere to his left, he opens his eyes to see Yusuf slipping away into the night.
Is this how it will be? No goodbye at all? Only waking to an emptiness as consuming as the void sky up above?
No, that can’t be. That isn’t Yusuf at all. There must be a reason for his secret departure. There must be. Maybe Yusuf is in danger. Maybe he has to settle a score with some culprit they dealt with a couple of towns ago. 
Without a second thought, Nicolò rises and follows.
After a long while, when the shimmering surface of water emerges in the distance, his heart grows cold.
Quynh has told him stories of the lands they were traveling through. She told him of a hidden pond. If you drink from its waters, it will take away your memories. 
He watches when Yusuf reaches the banks. He watches as he kneels and scoops up water in the cup of his palms. 
No.
Yusuf jumps up, scimitar drawn.
With a start, Nicolò realizes he said that aloud. He comes out of the shadows and Yusuf’s expression turns into one of incredulity.
“You followed me.” An accusation.
“I’m sorry,” Nicolò says. “I wanted to make sure you weren’t in danger. I didn’t mean to-”
“I’m immortal, it’s a bit difficult for me to get into any serious danger.” Yusuf looks exhausted as he lowers his sword and turns to the pond again. “You can go back to the camp now, I will be there shortly.”
“I don’t think you will, though.” Nicolò’s voice is so soft it’s hardly audible over his hammering heart. “You want to forget me.”
It is only fair. Nicolò knows that. It is only fair Yusuf wants to forget the man who caused him such pain and misery. And if this is what Yusuf wants and what is best for him, then Nicolò will not stand in his way.
“I understand,” Nicolò says. “Please let me help you. Let me stay and guide you back to the camp and make sure you are safe until Andromache and Quynh are there for you. Then I will leave and you’ll never have to see me again. I promise.”
Yusuf’s back is rigid and unmoving.
“For what it’s still worth,” Nicolò continues, “I am sorry for all I have done. I am sorry I have robbed you of your home and your people and your happiness. I am sorry I wasn’t the man I am now. And I am sorry that you had to be the one to make me better. I don’t expect to ever deserve forgiveness, but I don’t intend to stop trying either. I hope it makes you feel a little better that my eternal life will be spent in atonement for what I have done to you. Or at least, that you will feel better for this little while you will remember.”
Ever so slowly, Yusuf turns. Nicolòs eyes widen as he sees the tears on Yusuf’s cheeks, the painful desperation in his eyes.
“You think that’s why- Nicolò, I-” He looks away for a moment and breathes deep. When he meets Nicolò’s eyes again, Nicolò’s breath stills at the rawness on his face. “I want to forget you because I love you.”
All the air is sucked away from the sky.
“I want to forget you because I don’t think I can bear missing you.”
Maybe he’s still asleep. Yes, that must be it. He will probably wake up soon.
“I know it’s selfish,” dream-Yusuf continues. “But I just-” His voice breaks. “I just can’t miss you, Nicolò. I just can’t.”
Any moment now.
“Please say something, Nicolò,” Yusuf says quietly.
“This is all a dream,” is the only thing Nicolò can say, because going along would hurt all the more.
Yusuf blinks and seems taken aback. “I’m sorry I have appalled you. I’ll drink now and then we can each go our-”
“No!” Nicolò hastily puts a step forward. “No, please. That’s not what I meant. I’m a monster and I’ve wronged you in more ways than there are stars in the sky. There’s no way you could ever say such things, because it’s exactly what I long for you to say. No, it’s more than I would ever dare to hope for. So this must all be a dream. There’s no other explanation.”
While Nicolò is rambling, Yusuf comes closer until they stand so close together Nicolò can count all Yusuf’s laughter lines. Nicolò falls silent as a cold, damp hand takes his own. He looks down at their entwined fingers, wide-eyed.
A gentle finger guides his chin up until he meets warm, glowing eyes. “This is not a dream, Nicolò.”
Soft lips touch his own and Nicolò melts.
Yusuf is here, Yusuf is real, and Yusuf loves him back.
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sulky-valkyrie · 7 months
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Happy Friday! I gotta get an enemies to lovers prompt in here: "you snatch a knife from your enemy’s grip and throws it at the ground, then you grab your enemy by the collar, and crash your lips against theirs. they’re surprised, but responds immediately" - for whoever you think fits best!
Happy Friday, Niri! This all hit me in the shower about two hours ago and it doesn't fit the prompt exactly, but I think it fits the spirit? Anyway, happy DADWC and I hope you enjoy a really rarepair weirdness! 💜💜💜 for @dadrunkwriting
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Blasted forest.  Blasted werewolves.  Blasted… talking bloody trees!  Carver stumped his way around the edge of the camp, wishing he hadn’t drawn the straw to take the middle watch.  Leave this shit to the elf, or one of the damned dwarves!  They can see in pitch black, and I’m just tripping over my c - feet.  Void take it, even Morrigan could do a better job if she turned into a bird or a cat or something.
He paused and looked back at the rest of the group sleeping around the fire.  The campsite they’d picked out was too small for tents, so everyone was in bedrolls tonight.  Brosca was in theirs. Leliana was in theirs too.  More power to them, he thought spitefully.  Zev was in his.  Carver’s was, of course, empty, and Oghren was snoring leaning against a tree.  But Alistair, Sten and Morrigan were missing.  Had they left before he got up?  If so, why hadn’t Wynne mentioned it?
And if they’d left after Carver was on watch, why didn’t they say let him know?  Also, how had he missed it?
Furthermore, why would the three of them go anywhere together?  Sten distrusted women and mages, Morrigan hated Alistair personally, and Alistair just wanted them to leave him and each other alone.
Without the jingle of his mail or the thud of his boots, the night was far more quiet than it had any right to be - further proof that something about the Brecilian Forest was unnatural.  As he frowned and tried to figure out what to do, a faint metallic noise drifted from beyond the trees.
Like a weapon sliding on a shield.  
Before he knew it, he was leaving the camp and following what could only be the sound of fighting.
Maker, they really decided to just all three try to kill each other, didn’t they?  What the void for?  Why here, why now?  As he crept through the forest, he tried to remember if anything had been off during the evening meal.  Morrigan had been asking Sten questions that left them both looking flustered and annoyed, but that wasn’t really new. One of them was always pissing off someone, either out of deliberate spite (Morrigan) or stubborn obstinance (Sten).  But what did that have to do with Alistair?
A river was somewhere to his left, wide enough that the tree cover let the moonlight through.  The reflection made everything look and feel like the Fade, and reminded him of the times Bethany had accidentally dragged him into her own dreams.  He’d asked Morrigan about that one night, and she’d rolled her eyes and scoffed that he’d heard too many sermons on the evils of apostasy.
A few nights later, when he was on first watch, she’d asked him why he wanted to know, and listened to him with an intensity in those captivating yellow eyes that bordered on feverish.  In a roundabout fashion, Carver found her company the easiest of everyone, except Brosca.  She was an apostate, and knew all about the dangers of Templars, even if her mother had been a bit more… direct in getting rid of them than theirs ever had been.
She was still a bitch after that, of course.  Never gave him the time of day, or treated him with anything but contempt, but it was comforting in its own odd way.  She didn’t like him on his own merits, not for anything Garrett or Bethany had done or not done, and Maker, that was refreshing.. 
Focus.  Maker knew what Morrigan was up to now, or what Sten and Alistair might be doing to her.  He sped up, still moving toward the sound of metal, until something large and furry hit his back.  There was no time or space to pull out his sword, but he got his belt knife out as he felt forward and stabbed up behind him.  
The bear bellowed - Andraste’s flaming asshole, I’m wrestling a bear, I’m going to die - and swatted him to the ground as it fell on top of him, knife still stuck in its shoulder.  What’s the thing?  Play dead and they’ll get bored?  Or is that wolves?  Or mountain cats?  I’m so dead.
Carver grabbed at the knife and slashed at its throat, determined to at least make it pay for its next meal, and the damn thing batted it away as he leaned over him with a low threatening growl before everything felt sideways and watery, then Morrigan was on top of him, bleeding from shoulder and throat, and hands covered in dirt and moss where they dug into his shirt.
Is there any way tonight can get any weirder?  “What the -”
She kissed him.
Apparently so.
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minilpark · 2 years
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I've seen this trope in a couple of fics but I can't stop thinking about this prompt. How would Jake react if he was friends with this female pilot (that he befriended around the same time he befriended Coyote aka way before the mission takes place AND that he's very close) and she listed him as her emergency contact without telling him because she didn't have anyone else to put there (I'm a sucker for an angst background) and he only finds out when something happens to her? This could be either platonic or romantic, I don't what would work best, I'm just curious to know how you think he'd react to it.
in case of an emergency
ship: hangman x reader (platonic)
warnings: canon related injuries
genre: literal hurt/comfort, fluff
author notes: aAAAAAAAAAA *screaming into the void* i love this trope it hurts my heart in a good way- once again, imma make this into a tiny blurb to practice writing :D
as soon as jake hung up the phone, he rushed to his car and made the five hour and thirty minute drive to the hospital. so many things occupied his thoughts during the whole trip, but the two things that kept swimming around in his mind were what condition you were in and why him?
when he finally put the car in park, made his way into the er, and asked the front desk for your room number, he found himself anxiously pressing the elevator button a number of times in hopes that it would come down faster.
upon making it to your floor he began putting more haste in his steps until stopping just before your room. looking into the window, what he saw nearly broke his heart. the image of you laying in that hospital bed and the gown made everything even more real.
gently knocking on your door, he saw you stir and mumble a soft, "come in."
gingerly taking steps toward your bed, he noticed the way your eyes lit up at the sight of your best friend.
"jake? you're a long way from lemoore-" you said with a slight smirk, half shocked to see him come all this way.
"yeah well, i came as soon as i got a call that you were in here..." he chuckled while anxiously rubbing the back of his neck awaiting an explanation.
despite the relief you feel seeing that he came, it does bloom an air of guilt seeing him so worried for you which prompts an explanation
"first off, i'm not sure what they told you on the phone, but i'm alright now, i swear! it was just a little heat stroke-" you said, seeing him shake his head in disappointment, but you knew it wasn't directed towards you, "you know how california gets- i was out for a bit, but i'm feeling better now. they're just keeping me here for observation."
once he hears that your condition is improving, he lets out a breath of relief and sits down beside you.
"i'm glad you're alright now, but honestly it doesn't stop the fact that i wanna have a word or two with whatever idiot decided it was fine to send you all up in this heat, but that's besides the point." he sighed while leaning his elbows on his knees
"you're wondering why they called you, huh?" you continued before he could respond, "i know we've only been best friends for 4 years..."
he interrupted with an eye roll and quip, "yeah like that's such a short time, y/n-"
trying to hide a smile, you glared while continuing, "anyways- i didn't have anyone i could really trust to list as an emergency contact, so i put you down. i'm sorry, i know i should've at least told you about it, but i never really thought i'd ever have to use it which was kinda stupid of-"
cutting you off, jake grabbed your hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze
"you don't have to apologise. sure, it did throw me for a loop getting that call, but i'm glad you trust me enough as your friend to list me as your contact. it doesn't matter how far away we are, i'll always be here for you, you're family."
hearing that bit of reassurance come from him, you felt a weight off your shoulders and broke down.
jake swiftly pulled you into one of his tight, but comforting hugs and teased, "how about the next time you wanna see me, we make plans to hang out at the bar instead of here?"
you chuckled while wiping what remains of your tears, "sure, so i can beat your ass in pool again"
without even looking at his face, you could feel him rolling his eyes and in a sarcastic tone he said, "yeah sure, we'll see 'bout that."
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amorvincitomnia-14 · 2 months
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not really an expert in love
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leo valdez x Aphrodite kid! Reader
You are an idiot. Completely and entirely so. It's been about two weeks since the kiss and you have been avoiding Leo since. For a child of Aphrodite, you really are dense. 
It's not like you can avoid him fully; being on Argo II means there's not many places to hide. And plus you're supposed to be best friends with Leo, nobody else knows why you are suddenly running away whenever he appears. It's a shitty thing to do, you know that. But what else can you do? Are you ready for love? Was that kiss a mistake? 
So of course Annabeth tells you Leo needs help in the engine room, in a sort of way you can't say no. So here you are, standing awkwardly while you hand Leo various tools. You feel sick to your stomach, absolutely filled with nerves. How can you possibly begin to explain why you ran out on Leo?
After moments of silence, Leo speaks, “I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable with the kiss. I must have misread some signals or something” 
And your heart practically shatters. Of course he blames himself. How can you be so stupid as to hurt him? But your mouth is dry and there are no words coming out. You weren't uncomfortable with the kiss, just say that! 
“No, it's fine.” You manage to say, internally slapping yourself. A child of Aphrodite and major flirt. Yet here you are, awkward as can be. Why can't you explain your feelings? Leo deserves better. 
“Seriously though, can we talk? I don't want you to be upset with me.” Leo said, leaning back to look at you. He was dirty with oil staining his clothes, his eyes void of his usual impish gleam. You wanted to throw up. 
“What's there to talk about?” You replied, far harsher than you meant to. Leo winces, and looks away. 
“You've been avoiding me. I figure it's because of the kiss. But I don't want to lose our friendship because I misread something.” Leo replied, the sincerity in his tone making you want to cry. Why are you such an idiot?
And then you had to keep going, talking straight out of your ass. “I mean it was a mistake anyway. We can just forget it ever happened.” 
Leo looked shocked and then hurt. Like a dog tucking their tail in with defeat. You wanted to apologize and say anything to make him feel better again. But words fail. 
“Oh, if that's what you want.” Leo replied, any excitement in his eyes dying right before you. You froze, half wanting to run away and half needing to apologize. You unfortunately do the former. 
A couple days later and the rest of Argo II has had enough. Piper had taken it into her own hands. 
“Hey, can you get something in the storage room please?” Piper asked you, prompting you to agree pretty quickly. You can be nice, especially when it comes to your sister. 
You quickly realize your mistake when two things happen:
Leo is also in the storage room looking as confused as you
The door is now locked
Piper locked the door. Of course she did. You tried your best to stay calm and not act a total fool. Maybe you'll finally have your chance to apologize to Leo. Even if he looks very uncomfortable to you.
You were trying to say “I'm fucking sorry” or “Are you okay?” But unfortunately it came out as, “Are you fucking sorry?” 
You winced the same time as Leo before you quickly attempt to remedy it, “Sorry, I mean to say I'm so fucking sorry. Gods, I am so sorry.” 
You groan loudly, covering your blushing face with your hands. You wish the Earth could open up and simply swallow you whole. It would be a hell of a lot easier than dealing with the aftermath of the walking disaster that is you. 
The weirdest part is the fact you normally are extremely flirtatious. But that's when it comes to Leo Valdez, you are a complete, flustering, bumbling fool. 
You need to say this. You need to get it out and explain the utter way he consumes your heart. But right you can barely stand to look him in the eye without exploding with embarrassment.
“Alright, don't interrupt me.” You begin to say, eyes squeezed shut and voice shaky with nerves, “or say a word until I'm done. Because otherwise I'll just die of embarrassment. And I need to tell you this.”
When you don't hear anything you start speaking, parting your lips as the words flow. You describe the way his smile makes your heart flutter,the way his stupid, stupid jokes that always leave you breathless and grinning, the way his eyes light up when he talks about his newest inventions. You explain it all, you tell him the way your heart aches so heavily when avoiding him. How you've been an utter fool for so long, how you thanked the gods when he kissed you. 
You apologize for running away, like a coward. You explain that you were scared and embarrassed and too much of a wimp to confront him. You feel ridiculous for rambling this long but you keep going; you can't stop. Not until-
He says your name, in a way you've never heard before. It was low and softened around the edges, intimate and solely for you.
You hesitantly look up at him, your heart stalling when you see the look in his eyes. He looked at you like you are his entire universe, his entire reason for existing. That was enough to make anyone swoon, especially a child of Aphrodite like yourself. You don't even realize you had been crying until Leo's hand brushes against your cheek to wipe them away. 
“Can I kiss you?” He asks softly, his face inches away from your own. You nod slightly, lips parted instinctively. Your hands find their way to clutching the front of his camp shirt, his hands locked into your hair.
Finally Leo leans in, his lips pressing against your own. It's like everything you've dreamed and not at the same time. His lips are chapped and rough, but they tasted sweet. Your heart flutters in your body, rising and rising like a butterfly ready to fly. Your mouth opens, his warm tongue slipping through as he explores your mouth. It was like your first kiss but so much better, it was so perfect.
Leo pulls away, cheeks flushed and breath heavy. But he has an idiotic grin on his lips that likely matches yours.
“Are you still mad at me for ignoring you like an idiot?” You ask, unable to fight the smile on your face and the affection in your eyes. 
Leo pretends to take a moment to consider, his hands slipping to your hips as he pulls you closer. He gives you a smug smirk and whispers in your ear, “I'm still mad but if you give me more of those kisses, I might change my mind.” 
He didn't have to say it twice.
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